The White Castle
by dictionaryofdreams
Summary: A surreal tale set in an isolated world imbued with magic. A sorcerer seeks to create the ideal being, she who would be his soulmate, out of the fragments of his spirit and that of a captured bird. A decaying manor house surrounded by swampland is converted into his mind-palace, its rooms filled with memories, dreams, and fears to be explored by his beloved - or be forever locked.
1. Chapter 1

A curious structure stood amidst the expanse of marshes, built upon a great mound of granite and  
earth to keep it from the rising swamp water. Its walls had been made of carved logs now in the  
process of decay. Its interior was painted white and sparsely furnished, most rooms lay empty, with  
splotches of continents made of condensation and mold. The scent of wet leaves permeated the halls  
and winding staircases, occasionally a fire was lit within to ward off the darkness. There was no one to  
wonder at how this cast away home came to be, such was its obscurity, for no other sentient eyes were  
laid upon it than those of who were, or had once been, its inhabitants.  
There was but one figure that occupied it permanently, an emaciated woman with skin that no longer  
remembered the sun's caresses, though her eyes and her heart had known them well. She would spend  
long hours gazing up at the menacing disk and then down at the reeds and the bog, she grew to find  
them beautiful, though at first they did not welcome her. The marshland was wretched with decay for  
the ferryman would come dutifully at dawn to lower unhappy hosts through the dark mirror of the  
water to one day begin anew with the help of the serpents and the maggots. They were those who had  
left their posts before their time, she was told. The ferryman would wave at her but she would not look  
into his eyes for too long.  
Most of her days were spent imagining from fragments of what she remembered of a life that now  
seemed to her otherworldly. Other imaginings were crafted from the stories her keeper had told her.  
She did not always believe that the words he spoke were truth but it did not bother her so long as they  
was plausible. One such recollection was that the walls of their home were not originally painted  
white and dampened by mildew, there had been a time when ornate furniture, marble sculptures,  
embroidered curtains, and stained glass windows would have endeared the place to her. But all of these  
pleasures were removed, the cold wind of night billowed through unobstructed. He told her that he  
preferred it so, to remind them that they were of the living when they felt the goosebumps upon the  
skin. No one spoke anymore, only in the tongue of wind, rain, and animals did she know sound.  
There were the toads, the moles, the fish, the badgers, and the wolves. Some beings she had seen, some  
others she had only heard of and knew to fear.  
With delicate hands she crafted a fishing rod requiring a great spool of thread to reach the down the  
towering structure and make its way to the fish. She boiled them or fried them but little could be done  
to improve their flavor. The beings of the marshland were old and gamely, they did not die a natural  
death for they fed on the life spools that had never been unraveled which lay buried in the depths.  
Sometimes when she washed the black stains from his table and the cutlery she would feel a strange  
sensation of foreboding as though he were there, she told herself that was unlikely as he took great  
care not to be in her presence for very long. He fed on the blackness, she had no other name for it and  
knew not were it came from. Once she had seen him carrying eight earthenware jugs filled with it to  
one of the white rooms but his arms were weak and the last of the jars crashed to the bottom of the  
staircase causing her to shriek in terror at the crash, penetrating the deep silence that he promised her.  
It took her a week to clean it all away properly as she was given only one bucket of clean water per  
morning for this purpose, she had once believed water was a rare commodity in these lands but every  
other day he would bring her a steaming tub of it for bathing that was unnecessarily large. She  
wondered how he had got it up the staircase each time, moreover unseen. During the week of the  
Black Stain, curiosity got the better of her and with her fingers she dabbed at the liquid and licked it  
tentatively with the tip of her tongue, it tasted bitter like tar.  
The woman spat into the bucket in disgust and continued with her work.  
Of the rooms that were neither empty nor locked, one was filled with stacks of parchment, most of it  
with illegible scrawling in a childish unnerving hand. Another had piles of broken glass and wire  
structures that must have held these assorted vassals. In the third he kept pickled vegetables. When she  
had first arrived she detested the saltiness of almost all of the meals but eventually her pallet had  
adjusted out of necessity. As for her keeper, there had been four times when he had dined with her but  
only on the fourth she had been less nervous and more observant and noticed that he merely spread  
the vegetables about the plate, attempted to hide a few morsels in a handkerchief while making the  
careful gesture of wiping his mouth, or dropped them serendipitously on the floor. The combination of  
these three methods was not enough to contrive his deceit and perhaps he sensed it for he did not dine  
with her again.  
In the fourth room were several rows of gray urns lined up on wooden stands and filled with dirt. Her  
duty was to water these each morning. When she first arrived she had done this task with a certain  
anticipation, wondering what would become of them, what would grow behind the dilapidating walls,  
but it had been three years since then and to grow they solemnly refused to.  
The fifth room was of the most interest to her, he had only allowed her to enter once after an incident  
in which she had cut her hand while slicing the oozing mushrooms from the store of jars. She saw the  
wound heal unnaturally before her eyes but from that day her hand always bore a black mark in the  
place where the wound had been. When she had gone to bed that night a key lay on her nightstand.  
She dreamt strange dreams but when she awoke she remembered very little, only the tumulus  
emotions which had been evoked. The following morning she rushed through her tasks, sensing their  
banality more so than usual, and went to check all of the doors to find one that the key would open.  
When at last this door was found she had almost lost hope, wondering if it was more trickery to  
oppress her. The key revealed to her a day of bliss, the room was a replica of her father's study, in both  
worlds forbidden to her.  
The walls were lined with leather-bound tomes and various curiosities from the man's travels. She  
opened boxes of trinkets and minutely engraved statuettes, intricate maps and a chest of majestic  
clothing, jewels in velvet-lined boxes, and paintings of delicate ink figures of nobility. All was covered  
in a layer of dust that only added to the mystery and charm of the room. She spent the whole day  
there looking through the volumes, feeling a sense of urgency to take in as much as she could of the  
beautiful objects and tomes of history and verse telling of strange lands, all in her mother tongue to her  
astonishment and delight. It had been so long since she had the opportunity to read, she had imagined  
she may have forgotten how. As the hours slipped past, and the moon replaced the sun, she resolved to  
sleep on the couch there when the keeper, for it could be no other, created a terrible awakening. The  
old logs in the fireplace suddenly alighted and a flame surged forward, engulfing the room mercilessly.  
Everything within burned easily, somehow preserved from the dampness, to prevent the young woman  
from overstaying her welcome. She ran in horror, the door slamming behind her.  
Since then she had tried many times to open the door but she was forced to abandon the key inside  
and the heavy lock would not budge.


	2. Chapter 2

He would sleep beneath the soot where most of the forest had burned down, the towering  
pines and birch trees which once lined the edge of the murky lake. It had been a long time  
since he wandered far from the white castle, when he awoke he liked to look out to the  
horizon and see its silhouette, reminding him that its essence was untouched. But it would  
be wrong to say that he awoke, for he never manage to sleep, his body did not need it and  
his mind could not help but keep him awake through the dismal hours. Instead he would  
lay in a silence deeper still than that of the marshlands. He always felt tired and it did not  
go away. In his hand he would often clutch a small animal, a rodent, sometimes a mole. As  
he dug his nails into it, the little warm body would shrivel up into a cold husk.  
This being beneath the withered roots of pine was born from spirits and from men. The  
Mother Spiders, that had long ago weaved their nests around the tree trunk, found him  
scattered in parts beneath the earth and carefully excavated, stitched, and bound the pieces  
together in an unflattering shape resembling an ape. Then the Life Beetle, observing the  
ineptness of their work, decided to take it upon himself to steal the husk of a man away  
and make it into something presentable. Inside of it he weaved a soul and a heart from  
someone who he had found lying mangled on the train tracks that ran past the forest, he  
saved the soul and stored it away among his collection of jars in case such a rare specimen  
would be of use in the near future.  
The lids of the jars were in the shape of his coworkers who had been promoted to higher  
posts and only rarely visited the desolate lands, leaving for him the few souls that remained.  
He took great care of them but was cautious not to spoil them with to light a burden, the  
Beetles of his family had long known the merits of the weight of filth. To carry it about all  
the time builds up one's endurance, so his father would preach. After one has spent several  
lifetimes in contact with nothing but filth, never stopping, never looking away from it, he  
would be able to roll any soul into an orb of harmony. Such was the purpose of the beetles,  
by this mantra the Life Beetle carried on with his tasks, ensuring that such beings as the  
keeper and the toads and the badgers remained on their train tracks.  
Of course the time of train tracks was long ago and the metal from which they were made  
had been pillaged by the Great Eagle who had used the scraps to build a tower atop of  
which sat a nest, shaped like a crown by his powerful talons. It was a proud solitary bird  
who was admired by all for the span of its wings, though it could not fly he was clever  
enough to hide this fact for several centuries at which point his bravery and honor were so  
renowned that the birds of society would dare not speak of it but in private circles. Of the  
Great Eagle the most popular tale that was passed about was of the time when he and the  
keeper had quarreled. There were none other than the parties involved to confirm this  
event, so perhaps it is but rumor, yet given that both of them very prideful it seemed rather  
plausible and so welcomed as truth by most.  
The Great Eagle took one of the spires of his crown nest and pierced the keeper's heart  
with it.  
He did not die, surely not, but he bled for many years and would bleed a slight amount  
every few weeks or so, recalling his enemy and his frailty. After several years passed the  
bleeding finally stopped to be replaced by a greater curse, his enemy had the memory of an  
elephant and would not easily forget, and so the keeper's chest began to sprout blisters like  
a crop of mushrooms, each filled with sickly puss. The keeper would shroud his form even  
from himself and avoided bathing for it was too difficult not to catch glimpses of his shame,  
but in time it all became habitual, such is the nature of man, and his life began to take the  
semblance of what it once was. He adopted back his reflection and returned to the  
pleasures of bathing and occasionally going out in public, the water for these baths was  
always very hot in the winter as well as in the summer because little warmth came from  
inside of him and his skin took very little from what the outside world would give him.  
These were the fragments that the young woman remembered from her day in the room of  
books, she did not know if the tales were of him or of another, if the setting was the  
marshland or a place she would never set eyes on, but she allowed herself to believe,  
including these whimsical shards among the already vivid mythos of the untouched world.  
She would often add the words "once" and "a long time" to expand the likelihood of her  
arriving at the truth.  
As she thought and recollected, the young woman liked to sit on the floor in a corner of  
her room, examining the furniture. A bed with two blankets on it, one was thin for when  
the days grew hot while the other was of a heavy wool for the winter. A chair and writing  
desk made of oak, both covered in little scratches and punctures that may have been bite  
marks. Lastly, a mahogany chest for her clothing, this was the most attractive of the  
furniture, bearing spiraling engravings of vines and ornate silver hinges. She would run her  
fingers over the patterns, relishing that they had not yet disappeared.


	3. Chapter 3

That day she went to bed early, feeling her strength had ebbed away as though by a spider  
sitting on her back and drinking from her soul. The pillow felt soft and the bed was more  
welcoming than usual, for this reason she often liked it when the weather grew colder,  
though not so cold as to cause her to shiver. Although the stars lit the sky as beautifully as  
they did each night, their soothing words of distant worlds were not enough to comfort  
when her isolation weighed so heavily upon her heart. In attempts to alleviate this  
emptiness she had once caught several moths in an empty jar, but after two days they  
ceased to flutter their wings, lying on the bottom of the jar like colored scraps of paper. Still  
she kept them under the bed for a time, until someone took them away while she was  
doing her chores, likely the keeper she guessed.  
The young woman did not usually like the thought of him or anyone going through her  
meager belongings but on this night she was greatly despondent and would have welcomed  
any presence. Sometimes she would imagine her younger brother, she did not have one in  
the ordinary sense but he would become very vivid and come alive to her when she thought  
about all of the things she would tell him, about the plants that never grew, and the keeper,  
and her theories about the untouched world and possibly even escaping one day, which of  
course was impossible.  
She thought also of a strange nightmare that she had had two years ago in which she felt  
an unnatural coldness engulf her and her breathing stopped, she thought she would die  
while fingers like branches wrapped themselves around her stomach. On certain nights she  
would close her eyes in such a way that her lashes would cover the tiny slit that remained  
without entirely obstructing her view. Afterwards she peered with a great tension, still wary  
of being discovered in this small deception, but pleased to be able to keep the secret from  
the walls that seemed to whisper through the castle. That night had been such a night,  
though she could not remember if the events that followed had been secrets or nightmares.  
She imagined a fetus growing inside of her, black and deformed, and a man with long dark  
hair burying his face in her neck. At first she thought it was the keeper but he did not look  
like himself. When she awoke she was extremely frightened.  
Later when she got up to make her bed, she saw a small red stain on the covers which  
horrified her further still, remembering what she had heard from a girl of the village she  
lived in during her past life. She hurried to the tub, uncertain about what to look for, she  
did not feel any pain which reassured her but only very slightly, as she did so an owl  
perched upon the window ledge and made a sound almost like laughter. At first it horrified  
her but horror soon turned to surprise.  
After getting over the initial shock she marveled at its beauty and the peculiarity of its  
presence as such an hour. It took some time for her to notice a little roll of paper that had  
been dropped on the floor by the window; the ink was dampened, having fallen into a  
puddle of bath water. The young woman strained to read it, eventually deciphering that it  
was an invitation to come to dinner, the second of the dinners which she had with the  
keeper, not an invitation but rather a summoning for she could not really refuse. She did  
not know what would happen if she did but it was taken for granted that it would be quite  
grave, an unknown punishment was of course the most oppressing on the soul.

That night she got up from her bed, though the hour was a weary one, and hunched over  
her writing desk with a bottle of ink and a scarp of paper, a single candle and the feeble  
light of a half moon lighting her work. First she drew the owl with its big eyes and its  
feathers ruffled from the cold, several attempts were made to capture his likeness, none of  
them completely satisfying her. Setting the owl aside, she drew a female figure with hair  
falling past her waist, it was to be herself, in several years time when her fair locks would  
grow longer still, the young woman drew herself crouching in a small boat on the water  
with a tiny blotch representing the castle in the distance. Over her slender frame was a light  
blue dress embroidered with white lilacs, drawn in the spidery ink and gently colored in her  
imagination. She smiled at the picture, folding it and hiding it under the bed. Taking out  
another piece of parchment from beneath the mattress, she strained to remember his  
appearance, it upset her very much to forget anything that happened in the castle.  
She recalled his angular face and sharp gaze that rarely looked directly at her in a plain  
way, though she would sometimes catch his eyes upon her when he thought she was  
distracted. The way in which she surveyed him was similar, though the young woman  
could not entirely place his motivations, whether it was contempt, aloofness, or ineptness  
towards guests such as herself. When she thought of his attire it made her think of priests,  
if it were not for the length of his hair and the gold embroidery of his coat. If his  
appearance was indicative of his age, he looked to be in his forties, she decided, but it was  
doubtful that this was truly the case as everything in the castle was much older than it  
seemed. She recalled a particular rat with a torn left ear, she would see it every now and  
then knowing full well that black rats lived only about a year and it had already been three  
since they were first acquainted.  
The young woman drew the keeper's form in rough strokes of the quill, her eyes growing  
heavy and her enthusiasm for the task having almost exhausted itself. She went through  
four sheets of the paper that she had pillaged from the room in which it towered, at first  
she had done so with great caution and greater shame, but after several years passed she  
knew she could not bear to be so deprived of any stimulation but the work of a servant, still  
she knew better than to evoke suspicion by becoming greedy and taking more than what  
she estimated would be forgivable. This mixture of guilt and annoyance caused her to  
crunch up the sheet of paper, she stared at it for a long moment before getting up from her  
chair and throwing it out the window with a tinge of pleasure at her bit of rebelliousness.  
No sooner did she do so that a sudden burst of light collided with her, causing the young  
woman to stagger back, grip her stomach, and cover her mouth in shock. It was not so  
much light but a shower of gold flakes flitting through her window and taking the form of  
the keeper. She pressed her back against the wall and watched as the figure took shape, it  
seemed to be mimicking her gaping expression, perhaps in mockery. The thing never did  
look like anything proper nor complete but rather an amalgamation of gold, flesh, and  
gasoline; it dripped a dark ooze onto the floor like a sculpture dipped in ink, with gold  
running through its veins and dusting its winding snake hair. Its ribs protruded horribly  
and it bore a lion's tail that lashed behind it in ravenous excitement, the thing pounced on  
her pillow, taking it in its elegant mouth and shaking it like a dog so that a the mattress  
and the floor were covered in oily gray feathers. When it jumped down the young woman  
crept further along the edges of the room, trying to keep as much distance as was possible  
between herself and the half-beast. Her eyes could not look away from human spine that  
seemed to have been crudely attached to that of a lion, making it look unstable and far too  
elongated, shaking wildly the thing moved about, threatening to crack. It was like a tribal  
sphinx wearing a porcelain mask, she did not know what to make it, whether it deified or  
scorned the keeper by its presence she could not tell.  
In an effort to keep it back she grabbed hold of a chair and held it in front of her while the  
being grinned at her, licking its lips with a tongue three times the length of a human's,  
afterwards it grew eight slender arms which spread from its back like wings or a fan. It  
spat, hissed and finally smiled suavely at her before its head tumbled off from the spine  
causing her to scream.  
The torso knelt down, and after trying to skewer it back on, finally accepted the aid of one  
of the eight hands with the task of replacing it upon the neck.  
"So sorry, so sorry to disturb you," it spoke it the voice of an English woman, cocking its  
head to the left and pursing its lips.  
"Stop that no stop that," another voice spoke form the same throat before the whole  
contraption turned around to collect itself.  
When it turned again a great fire raged in its open mouth, revealing a set of sharp snake's  
teeth.  
"How dare you!" it smiled again.  
In response the young woman worked up the courage to swing the chair and smack the  
head right off again, causing the beast to turn into another shower of gold flakes. She stood  
in her place, breathing heavily for what felt like an eternity, simply gazing down at what  
had replaced the monstrosity. Breaking the heavy silence, a voice screeched shrilly.  
"How dare you! How dare you! How dare you throw out such a masterpiece!"  
The owl, the brown owl.  
It fluttered feebly by the wall close to the window, its head visibly bleeding, a wing likely  
broken, still clutching the drawing in one of its talons.  
This phrase was repeated over and over until it took on a certain eeriness.  
She felt like crying, partially because of what she had done, partially because of her  
exhaustion. Carefully, she crept forward, still uncertain if it were an illusion of sorts or if  
the thing that threatened her only moments ago was truly gone. Seeing no transformation  
take place before her, she ventured to take the bird into her arms and bring it to her  
writing desk, laying it close to the light but not so close as to cause an accident by its  
frightened flapping of wings.  
That night she tried to recall all that her grandmother had taught her while she worked in  
the aviary, it made her miss all of the exotic birds that once sang for her, swooping past to  
winding branches or landing upon her shoulder, carried by beautiful wings of every colour.  
It all felt like a dream to her, to remember such things.  
The owl looked at her with wide eyes that seemed to carry a world of terror, she told  
herself that the eyes of all animals take on such an expression when it is dark, that this bird  
was not a trapped soul as her whimsical thinking suggested to her.  
Another hour passed since her guest's arrival before she was finally able to lay down in her  
bed, using her arm as a pillow. Tomorrow she would take care of the mess, she decided,  
what mattered was that the bird would live, and of this she could be fairly certain.

Brygus waited in his chamber, translating the ancient writings of Plato in rich black ink.  
The candle at his table flickered, melting the hot the wax into slow drips. Night had fallen  
and the monastery lay in silence save for the footsteps of a conjugation of priests returning  
from their pilgrimage. While his hand moved, his mind was elsewhere; it had been three  
nights since he had been able to visit the girl, fears of her escape were beginning to weight  
upon him. He felt himself obliged to greet the returning party, yet a part of him disdained  
the trivial pleasantries that his role entailed. Rising from his seat, he bitterly reminded  
himself of the reason he had chosen a life devoted to the Lord, recoiling into the world of  
his own mind. How vividly he pictured it as a youth, a life of honour and peace devoted to  
study and sheltered from the vulgar pursuits of man. Neither matters of the flesh should  
tempt him nor thwarted ambitions would vex him, he would be of the few to escape  
subjugation to the maddening wheel that was the life of commoners. Yet unlike the  
wealthy, his mind and body would not be allowed to sink into idleness and rot in vile  
decadence; the strict disciple of both was required by the Lord, only He would Brygus  
accept as master.  
What vain childish fancies, he laughed sardonically as he recalled his past aspirations, there  
are no walls that would shield a man from his own nature. Shunning his peers, Brygus fell  
to the ideals of philosophy and religion for his representations of humanity. He sought an  
untouchable virtue that was above the grime that is the ordinary. He studied the masters of  
the old world with vigour and surpassed his peers in learning, all the while growing colder  
in his isolation. The thin man's heart as much as his appearance could inspire respect and  
perhaps admiration but little warmth. Those who scorned him named his hubris pride,  
arrogance perhaps, but it was what kept him sane he assured himself. For if ever he were to  
fall from his pedestal his soul would be torn to shreds. He had nothing of value but his  
learning and his piety. Knowledge, he once called it.  
Brygus opened the chamber door and called out to the brothers, exchanging blessings with  
them and inquiring about their journey. They told him of the people and the climate that  
they had endured, exotic though it was from the life of the monastery Brygus failed to be  
thrilled by it, he could only muster to affect such a reaction. He was soon allowed to retreat  
back to his study. Returning to his desk, he sighed deeply, no longer bearing to pick up the  
quill. How empty words have grown, how grandiose and pompous. Men were never as they  
were, he muttered under his breath, reminding himself as he often did that he was no  
longer a youth to seek solace in the thoughts of other mortals. Yet so much was  
inescapable, there is a flame within each being which prays that there is a treasure hidden  
among the rubble, that one must only pick up the clues. May that take years, decades,  
lifetimes. To live without purpose is to be a shallow husk of a soul. He wondered if he were  
not melodramatic, putting away his work he resolved to return to the white castle and  
claim another black stain upon his conscience. He wondered how long he would be able to  
keep her a secret.  
…


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning she heard a knock upon her door. Although the night had left her weary, the young  
woman's nerves were still on edge and thus kept her alert after the peculiar happenings that lay  
somewhere between reality and dreams. She bit at her lip, considering whether to approach, a second,  
more forceful knock, urging her to make a decision. At last she pulled the blanket around herself like a  
cloak and dragged it with her on her way to the door.  
An elderly man in a faded green robe stood before her, holding up a lantern to light the windowless  
passageway. Looking past him it seemed as though it was still night at the castle. Thus partially  
assuring herself that there were no other visitors waiting in the shadows, she allowed herself to  
carefully study the leathery face: sagging earlobes and cheeks, bushy white eyebrows, and a red turkey's  
neck. His feet were bare, displaying the figure's curling toenails.  
"W-what –who are you?" she stammered out at last, feeling it was her duty given the man's vacant fish  
gaze.  
"Oh I am here to give you your name!" he replied in a voice that surprised even himself.  
"My name?"  
"Yes,"' he nodded enthusiastically, rummaging through a potato sack that was tied to his waist by a  
rope.  
"Ah! Here we are!" his nodding continued, reminding her of pigeons.  
He offered her a crumpled piece of parchment, whether chosen at random or by design, she could not  
guess.  
"A-Anna," he read out the characters.  
She took the scrap hesitantly from the wrinkled hand and read the letters scrawled upon it, unable to  
decipher them but forcing a smile for the sake of the guest, delirious with a joy that was as inscrutable  
to her as his supposed occupation.  
"Beautiful! A beautiful name!" he exclaimed, his head no longer bobbing. Instead his knobby legs  
moved in a goblin's dance.  
"Anna," she repeated the word, blushing slightly.  
"Yes! Yes!" he grinned a toothy grin.  
"Why did you offer me this name?" she ventured to ask, hoping that her question would not appear  
banal to him.  
"I am the Giver of Names," he replied promptly. "It is what one must do when young ladies of the  
castle remain nameless for so very long."  
"Are there other young ladies here?" she asked, surprised and delighted, it felt very long indeed since  
she spoke a name.  
"Of course! Of course!" he echoed.  
"Could I meet them?"  
"Well well I cannot see why not," the old man replied, tying the sack back to its place at his hip. He  
hobbled down the passageway, not waiting to be asked twice. "Come along, come along."  
Anna dropped the blanket by the door and followed after him down the labyrinth of stone.  
During this journey she said little, not wishing to give herself away, if such she could do, lest the old  
man be alerted of the forbid nature of their excursion. She was not entirely certain whether or not she  
were allowed to go along with him but she had grown to be suspicious of anything that broke the  
routine of the castle, it had been more than once that it had played tricks upon her vision, taunting her  
with amusements or escapes.  
This walk through dim corridors lasted until the girl's feet began to ache, at last she could bear it no  
longer and resolved to rid herself of the oppressing silence and the aching curiosity.  
"Will we be there soon?"  
"Where?" the man turned in shock.  
"Where the young women are."  
"Did you eat the Shem?"  
"What is a Shem?"  
"I you are a golem, made of mud and filth, you need a soul to be worthy, your Shem," he muttered,  
she could tell that he was irritated with her and she could not help but feel the same for him given the  
aimless hours spent walking the winding halls. The young woman doubted that she would be able to  
return to her chamber on her own and already had proof of the unreliability of her guide. Moreover  
she had neglected her chores.  
But if she were to find others, these women he spoke of, perhaps whatever punishment was to come  
was a price she was willing to pay.  
"Do you have one?" he asked her, interrupting her daydreams and broodings, already his hand was  
reaching for the sack of parchment pieces.  
"Anna," she said, stopping him.  
"Ah yes! Yes!" his smile returned. "Come along then."  
"I did not eat it though."  
He stopped abruptly and turned to her again. "Well do not waste my time, hurry on then!"  
Before she had time to regret, she stuffed the paper into her mouth and began to chew the pulpy  
morsel.  
"Good ! Good! Good! " Namer - as she chose to name the old man - began to nod in his curious way.  
After swallowing the name parchment she did not feel any change in herself but perhaps the effects  
were yet to come, she mused.  
"Do you accept your name?" he asked with suspicion. "It is of the utmost importance that you do."  
"I do."  
"You do?" his brows furrowed, still unappeased, or perhaps he was hard of hearing, one could not tell  
which it was.  
"Yes," she bore him with patience.  
"In any case, you do not oppose being Anna? for whom doors may open in the castle both figuratively  
and literally," the Namer spoke gravely.  
"I assure you," she did not know what more she could do.  
"Very well then. I shall take you to the women," he walked passed her and began trekking in the  
direction for which they came.  
Anna could not help but sigh, after an exhausting night the possibly senile fellow's antics were wearing  
her down, but he was her only hope and so she would not let the opportunity pass.  
"Do not worry, we are close."  
She smiled a little, relieved that it was so.  
It was indeed not long before they arrived at a bolted door, much like the many other unmarked doors  
of the castle, to which the Namer pressed his ear before knocking against the wood and whistling a  
tune. Anna could not help but smile as she heard someone repeating the same tune, followed by the  
turning of gears, and the door unlocking.  
She allowed the old man to go in first while she surveyed the room.  
The first thing that struck her was that the floor, the walls, and even the ceiling were splattered with  
mud. Secondly, there were two cauldrons, one brewing and one not. They stood by a window that had  
once been decorated by hunting scenes in stained glass but had been broken in order to air out the  
room. Next, her eyes scanned the many books that lay scattered here and there, alongside earthenware  
mixing bowls and assorted utensils.  
"Here! Here are the women!" he beckoned her over with a wave as he knelt over a large wooden chest  
in the corner of the room.  
She bit at her lip again, stepping over the globs of mud.  
"I will put together one, that should be enough for you," he murmured, scratching at the dirty gray  
beard that clung to his chin.  
Stooping over him she looked into the chest. It was filled with scraps of parchment much like the one  
that she received.  
"Silly girl," he read the disappointment upon her face. "The Shem is what matters for the soul! What  
we keep safe! Not mud! Not mud! The mud, the filth, they are there. Here one is forming, look, look"  
he pointed to the bubbling cauldron.  
"When you are old as me, older maybe, we will put you in the mud outside these castle walls, in the  
swamplands, not too damp, not too dry. The sacred voices will chant for you. Then we wait until there  
is only bone left, bone and your tongue which carries your name. On your tongue will be the Shen, we  
take it out, the Shen, not the tongue," he muttered with a certain disdain. "Then we put the Shen in  
mud, inside, here, and you will be reborn, here, here on this world, one more chance to undo your  
wrongs."  
"What have I done wrong?"  
"You, everyone, all are mud inside and out!" he spat into the cauldron, in return it spat back a glob of  
mud that hissed on his face, leaving a small splotch of seared flesh.  
"Impudent Catharina!" he grimaced.


	5. Chapter 5

"That is enough for you," the Namer pushed her along away from the cauldron. "There is work to be  
done."  
"Who is Catharina?" she could not help but ask.  
"My wife," he replied sharply, setting his eyes upon what appeared to be a desk draped with a filthy  
tablecloth. With beetle-like steps the aged man made his way towards it.  
Upon it four chisels of varied sizes were laid out alongside some cartons of nails, two hammers,  
several pungent jar, a clump of mud in a bowl, and a few stacks of parchment written upon with a  
tremulous hand. Anna took a mental inventory of these items before they were swept away by the  
Namer's bony hand, clanking and shattering as they hit the floor. She winced slightly at both the  
sudden crash and the old man's temperament.  
"Clear that rubbish away," he told her, taking hold of the tablecloth and tossing it to the floor.  
"Where?" asked Anna.  
"Where where – away!" he parroted her voice in a mocking tone while gesticulating towards the wall.  
She quickly got down on her knees and used her arms to scoop up the pile as best she could.  
"With a broom you nit wit!" the Namer pointed to a sorry looking stick with but a few remaining  
bristles before turning his attention back to the table, which was not so much a table but an iron mold.  
This curious item received as much attention as the sweeping, for the girl mistook it for a coffin.  
The old man took an earthenware container from one of the wooden shelves above him and a brush,  
with these tools he prepare the mould, covering it with a generous layer of the grease which the jar  
contained.  
"Is your wife the mud or in the mud?" Anna had thought at length about how exactly to phrase such a  
ridiculous question to make it appear less absurd, if ever so slightly, for a situation that seemed itself  
extraordinary. In the end she decided that there was no way around it if she were to satisfy her  
curiosity.  
"Yes," the Namer replied, without so much as a glance in her direction.  
"Which?" she smiled.  
He made a rasping noise, as though he wished to exhale through his mouth but his lips refused to  
open, and then replied with a dry laugh.  
"It is not as simple as that."  
"How did she end up that way?" she was not at all satisfied with such an answer and so she pressed  
onward, meanwhile continuing her sweeping beyond her assigned task with hands left to their own  
inclinations.  
"The old crone grew older still until her body could keep her soul here no longer, nature took its  
course with it," he set down the jar for a moment and made circular motions in the air with his hand.  
"With all my work I could not help but neglect the petulant woman, it could only be for the better to  
let the natural thing to happen, the natural thing I stress! – but now she is needed to help make you  
presentable so we must do the unnatural."  
"How? What does it mean to make me presentable?" she asked, a part of her suspected that he was  
goading her with his vague answers which only kindled further restlessness. Or the alternative, that  
Namer was the sort of man who spoke without regard for his listener, as though answering a thought  
that had flitted through his own mind for his sake alone.  
"Mud form the swamp banks and—" he furrowed his brow, trying to find the right word, "and  
blackness. The blackness the Keeper collects are the scales of God and his courtiers, The Stars, they  
shed them and he collects them from the swamp, distilling their substance. One day you will see the  
distillery room."  
"Is that in truth or in metaphor?"  
The Namer laughed, shaking his head. "The Keeper would not want this discussion to take place."  
"But he is not here to listen," she smiled beseechingly. "Tell me more about the world."  
"I know little," he shook his beard, unable to hide the slight smile playing upon his lips. "I can only  
tell stories."  
"Then tell me a story then," she said eagerly.  
He considered her request for some time before finally clearing his throat and beginning to speak.  
"Listen closely," he set down his tools and fixed his eyes upon her. "Billions of years ago the universe  
was empty, empty except for God," the old man paused for emphasis. "God was only a light. He  
morphed his energy into matter. He made a body for himself and changed it at will. He created a  
planet, a solar system, a galaxy. He made plants, and fish, and insects, animals and people. Everyone  
was happy and lived in harmony," he smirked with derision. "God enjoyed observing them and  
teaching them how to exist, even before they were born. Then one day a strange being appeared, he  
walked up to God and sat beside him. The two of them talked, God told the other about his world and  
how much love he had for it. But the wanderer told him that he had seen many other worlds such as  
this, ones far more beautiful and magnificent than God's. God asked him if he had created these more  
magnificent worlds, but the other said no. I am the Devil, he answered, I decompose. The Devil then  
left and did not return for a great length of time, time which passed beyond measure, and God thought  
of him with great impatience, feeling his loneliness grow like a cancer within him. Cancer. That was  
one of the strange things that came out of his world. It was a being that created. It created endlessly  
and then decomposed, destroying the greater whole. God found it frightening but at the same time  
beautiful and astounding. He thought about this paradox, at first he saw it with utmost curiosity but  
soon it began to trouble him. It angered and hurt him to see his children in pain. As years passed they  
would cease to exist, one by one. God did not know what to do, in his panic he set to work creating  
more to replace those that fell but soon he could not work fast enough. As if answering God's plea, the  
Devil appeared. He told God about the eel and the cave, he showed him how his children would go on  
without him. It troubled God to let go of his creations but he knew that they had a better chance of  
thriving on their own. The Devil gave God's children a set of wants and needs, he called them the  
virtues and sins. God smiled upon this. With the help of this great being, his world was becoming  
more fascinating and complex, suddenly it had been filled with a thousand variables. And God added  
more, he changed the weather, the colours of the children's faces, their soul eyes, the size of their  
thoughts. He shared all of his ideas with the Devil, soon realizing his own need for the other being.  
He was certain that he did not have this need before. His only need was for truth and knowledge. This  
need was love, and it had come from one of the many diseases in his children. God was frightened and  
angry by his strange new thoughts. What trouble, what weakness they brought to him! And so he  
collected all of his power and banished the Devil into a shell. This shell was the core of the Earth. And  
no matter how hard the Devil pounded his fits against its walls, God would not listen. But the people  
of Earth did. The Devil would cause earthquakes, tsunamis, and hurricanes with his pounding. But  
worst of all he would whisper in their ears. As time went by, God used what the Devil had taught him  
to create increasingly complex beings, ones that would even be enough to stimulate his interest for  
centuries. But he knew that they could not replace his companion. God soon saw his grave mistake,  
the cause of the unbearable pain in his chest. The wisdom of time had caused his soul to mature; he  
saw truth more clearly and realized that he must set the Devil free. No longer were the powers of  
creation and destruction in his hands alone, here the alchemists do their meddling too."  
She remained silent for some time, turning over his words in her head.  
"Where did the tale come from?"  
"An old book that I paraphrased, all rubbish of course."  
"Do you have it still?"  
"I do, but it is a tiresome thing and you have heard what is worth hearing of it already."  
"I would still like to read it," she ventured further.  
"Clean. Clean everything," the old man's expression changed sharply into an exaggerated scowl. "Soon  
your handmaids will be ready for you, to clean you, feed you, to dress you. At Catharina's direction of  
course. With those things you cannot be trusted."  
"Handmaids?"  
"Here all slaves have handmaids and all queens dig the turnips from the garden."  
"You are lying," she remarked, almost in question.  
"I am – why should I keep answering you honestly if you will not cease your interrogation?"  
"How should I clean?" she tried to hide her disappointment in hopes that her patience would in time  
be rewarded.  
"Clean well, so that I would not be able to find anything without asking you," he replied, "As a good  
wife would!"  
"Am I to be married?" she exclaimed, dropping the broom, wondering if she had arrived at the  
meaning of the day's strange events at last from the old man's careless jibes. "Is that why the  
handmaids are coming to get me ready?"  
"I have no time!" he shook his head and waved her away in annoyance. When she tried to follow the  
Namer pushed passed her and took hold of an iron handle attached to a system of pulleys and gears.  
By setting this contraption into motion, the steaming cauldron was lifted from its place and heaved  
closer to the mold where it hovered precariously. With another lever the contents were carefully  
poured, and with a final third lever, the casket was closed with a thud.  
"Wait with my wife," he said curtly before wiping his hands on his clothes and marching to the door.  
"Wait!" she pleaded.  
"No, you wait, I have work," he wagged a finger at her and slammed the door shut behind him,  
leaving her in the room. "Wash the floors as well, by the empty cauldron you will find rags and  
buckets."

Anna slouched on the floor in dread before working up the energy to resume her dire task. A part of  
her still hoped that the old man would return soon and properly explain to her whatever it was that he  
deemed her fate. If only to pass the time, she swept, dusted, and surveyed the contents of the room.  
Her mind alternated between despair and reassurance. He had thus far given her but a morsel of his  
knowledge to whet her appetite, intentionally or not, it was not presumptuous to believe that there was  
more to come, such was her optimism. In her heart fear and excitement mingled, sending her stomach  
churning.  
Several hours passed before he at last returned. She was about to speak but he broke in first.  
"Leave the room, I must work in silence!" the grating voice commanded.  
"What are you going to do?"  
"Chisel away the excess, uncover the form in this crude marble and with holy soul transform mud into  
flesh."  
"How beautiful," she could not help but think. The young woman watched while the hardened form  
was molded by the Namer's steady hand, the precise jabs of the steel resounding in rhythm. At last she  
gathered the nerve to speak the thoughts that welled up inside of her. "You may could teach me, I  
could help you with your work – I am good for much more than cleaning. Please, if only I had a  
chance to prove myself."  
"The common pride of youth!" he retorted half in jest. "Here, the chisel," the Namer grabbed of her  
arm and pressed the instrument to her palm. "Well go on madam, get to work. And remember, my  
wife's figure depends upon it! She shall not easily forgive any mutilation which your novice hand  
would deal her."  
"That's hardly fair," she said in an inaudible whisper.  
"Alright, give it back then," he took the tool back, not waiting for a reply, and continued with his  
work.  
Anna sat near his work station, leaning against the wall in a despondent mood, dwelling upon the  
object of her desires. The Namer would not so much as let her look at the work that he was intent  
upon, bellowing at her to not block the light: a rusted chandelier that took much climbing and  
patience for her light. Already the sky grew dark, adding greater mystery to the ambiance of the room  
and the candles' dim glow, strange shadows played along the walls to which Anna's eyes wandered, her  
imagination shaping them. If only this man would take her on as an apprentice of sorts her life would  
grow to be worthy at last. His role in the workings of the Castle which she could only guess at  
expanded in greatness and novelty, this dream grew bigger and bigger, as though it were the answer to  
her prayers teasing her with missed opportunity. She did not know which way she ought to have  
approached the Namer but evidently he had little interest in her, to what purpose he had brought her  
there she knew not, her main comfort was that the cleaning seemed to be but a diversion to fill the  
time.  
Seeing that the Namer was wiping his hands, she rose to her feet to look at the outcome of his toils.  
Within the sarcophagus-like mold lay a statue of a beautiful woman, her eyes closed and her arms  
folded over her chest. Her hair fell in ringlets about her slender neck. Anna wondered what this being  
would be like if she were ever to come alive, for the Namer assured her that she would. This form was  
not yet completed however; the hands had no fingers, her feet had no toes, and the ears were like  
biscuits.  
"What now you wonder?" he turned his head of tangles to scrutinize Anna's expression, taking a  
certain pride in his craftsmanship. "We wait, wait until sunrise. Do you have enough water?"  
"No – I don't think so," she looked back at the filthy pails, thick with mud.  
"I will show you the well then, you may go there when you are thirsty."  
"I had been to the well before, but it must be very far from here, I will likely not be able to find the  
way from here so yes – it is best that you show me."  
"No no, you have not seen the well that I speak of. It is at the center of the castle, the others feed from  
it, the other seven," he explained, having finished much of his work set him in a better mood than  
before. "Now follow me, bring both pails!"

The passage was always dark, but particularly so at night, when not even a crack in the stonework  
would avail her. But for such circumstances her master had taught her a trick. As Anna fetched pails of  
water from the great well she would whistle a tune the Namer had taught her, scurrying down the  
corridors, having grown used to the man's impatience. The door to her new chamber would whistle  
back, thus showing her the way. About a week passed in this manner, the girl had been kept well  
occupied with a new assortment of chores, yet each day her anticipation grew, for surely the day the  
Namer kept hidden would soon arrive. At the very least, she may meet Catharina, whose figure was no  
longer to be found in the mold.  
One morning, the Namer knocked upon her door by way of announcing himself.  
"Come in," she replied, pulling the blanket over herself.  
The old man sauntered in and sniffed the air as though in suspicion.  
"Are the floors clean today?" he asked her, smiling mockingly from ear to ear.  
"Very good," he grinned, squatting down to examine the floor. "You are ready to be wed."  
"Wed?" she gasped.  
"No no not to me!" he muttered.  
"Even so—"  
"A clean mind needs a clean floor."  
"B-but why? To whom then?"  
"Because this Castle is our collective mind. Any fungus is positively cancerous, schnitzophrenic,  
lethargic –"  
"To whom?" she interrupted his list of adjectives, not quite certain if he spoke literally or not.  
"To The Keeper," he replied more somberly.  
She bit at her lip, not knowing what to make of this reply, whether to mourn or delight in her fate.  
"That cannot be his name," she mumbled.  
"It is forbidden for you or I to know, not yet.  
"Will you ever will know it?"  
"Not I but you. It will be his gift to you as his wife, you will take care of his name."  
"How does one take care of name?"  
"By never speaking it in the presence of strangers, never writing it where it is unsafe to write it. An  
alchemist's name comes only after his eyes as that which must be kept safe."  
"Safe from what?"  
"I would not have enough breath to utter such a multitude of things. The world is filled with many vile  
things that we have kept you from. Vile, vile things!"  
"Like demons?"  
"Like tax collectors!" he muttered. "Get up! Get up! There is work!"  
She did as he commanded but looked away so that he could not see her furrowed brow.  
"Do not scowl you wench! I should have given you a beating long ago," his voice echoed, though not  
once were his threats acted upon. "Now have some biscuits while they are hot, Catharina has prepared  
them for you. You are much too thin."  
"Catharina!"  
"Yes not hurry on, get dressed," his expression changed back to his capricious smile.

"Wait here until she calls you inside," he instructed her as they stood together by a door which she had  
yet to open during her time at the Castle. "I must go now."  
"Where are you going?" Anna asked.  
"More mud," he held up a grimy bucket from his wheelbarrow.  
Anna nodded, still feeling anxious about being left alone.  
"It will be okay, you shall see," he grinned at her reassuringly.  
She tried to smile back, less certain.

The maids were like white-faced marionettes, it was not only their faces that resembled unpainted  
doll's masks but all of their limbs as well. They wore simple gray dresses that reached down slightly  
past their knees and white scarves over their heads that kept their hair in place, much like a turban.  
They raced to and fro bearing various articles in preparation for the evening.  
Catharina filled the porcelain tub from water pails warmed by the many fireplaces surrounding the  
tub; a great porcelain structure at the center of a solar mosaic of geometric patterns in black, beige, and  
green. The tub, engraved with intricate flowers and vines, was polished like a lady's best china so that  
it glistened in the candlelight. To the bathwater, maids added drops of perfume.  
Anna watched this procession with a curiosity that mingled with a multitude of feelings of which  
delight and anxiety were a part. Suddenly, the other woman placed her hand upon her shoulder,  
causing her to wince in surprise.  
"Do not worry dear, it is only me," kohl lined eyes flickered, giving the essence of something feline  
about the woman whom they called Catharina.  
Anna looked up at her shyly, enthralled by her scarlet lips and fiery hair piled high like a bird's nest.  
The Namer's wife wore a violet dress of velvet and several strings of pearls hung about her neck and  
swung like ropes as she turned sharply to yell orders. Even the least observant of guests could not fail  
to take note of the effort she put into her appearance, as well as the impression that the effort taken  
had indeed overbalanced the scales of subtle elegance.  
"Undress," Catharina commanded after receiving little in reply.  
Anna continued to look at her nervously, hoping the order would be reconsidered, but it was not to be.  
"We do not have time for modesty," she crossed her arms in exasperation.  
The young woman forced herself to shed some of her reluctance and along with her cotton nightgown.  
"Well? Get in," she pointed to the tub.  
The young woman first tested the water tentatively with her hand before descending into its pleasant  
warmth, indeed it did much to soothe her nerves, worked into a flurry by the hoard of doll women  
eyeing her furtively.  
"Helga!" Catharina screamed.  
A portly maid kneeling by the tub began to scrub roughly at Anna's scalp, working up a mound of  
soap suds that would eventually fall onto her shoulders or into the bathwater. The young woman  
closed her eyes and clung to the edge of the porcelain tub, trying to lurch away from the rough hands,  
but to no avail.


	6. Chapter 6

Anna closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath. How strange it seemed to her to be the center of such a  
great commotion, it overwhelmed her, at times, frightened her, though she had long desired the  
company of others, pondering what lay deeper within the Castle - down the corridors to which  
passage had once been barred to her. There remained many mysteries which still eluded her yet she felt  
that in tentative steps she was approaching that essence unknown. She treasured each of these peculiar  
events which waltzed in and out of her life unexpectedly; the Namer, his wife, the maids that did not  
speak.  
Catharina left the girl, followed by the stout matron, Helga, abandoning her with vacuous words of  
reassurance, those who remained had an unnerving sameness about them as they circled around Anna,  
bearing heavy towels, white as snow. Other thoughts flew about her mind likewise, could she be little  
more than an elaborate gift for show to the strange man whom she had never laid eyes upon? She  
could not remember how she came to be an occupant of the Castle, memories would come to her in  
glimpses, like birds flying on a distant horizon.  
The warmth of the water held a most welcoming sensation; the young woman was not used to such  
luxuries, at times feeling unworthy. Sometimes she wished to laugh, finding that their meticulousness  
bore a touch of absurdity; seeing the three pale women kneeling before her, scrutinizing her nails and  
filing them into an almond shape. Their gazes eluded her, a mixture of suspicion and jealousy, they  
admired the delicacy which her limbs had been imbued with, as though her flesh had become godly  
under their ministrations. They rubbed her arms with fragrant creams smelling of jasmine, with firm  
hands they took hold of her legs and rid them of hair with frightful blades, leaving no scars but a  
tingling sensation, her hair they brushed with equal remorselessness, preparing their sacred offering  
with cold devotion. She did not speak, knowing not what she could say, her body had gone limp and  
her mind's eye receding back into itself. One by one the women left the room, having performed their  
duty, until but one of the gray maids remained, mopping up the water that had spilled onto the floor.  
Noticing this, Anna's eyes grew bright again as she gazed around the room, observing the soothing  
glow of the candles as though for the first time. She imagined the Keeper, his nebulous face, entering,  
herself shivering, and her stomach twisting as though it were filled with frantic caged birds, it was a  
warm twisting that took hold of her at night.  
"What are you thinking of?" a faint voice broke through the stream of her thoughts, transporting her  
back from mirages.  
A sallow faced girl looked up at her, one of the gray maids that had until then kept her head staring  
down at the rag in her calloused hands.  
"I – I'm just wondering – about everything," Anna felt as though she had not spoken in a long time,  
her throat feeling dry and unused to words, she did not want to reveal her imagings but neither did  
she have the will to lie.  
"That is an awful lot to wonder about," the maid replied, a trace of bitterness in her voice, hidden by a  
smile. "But soon you will have less to guess at."  
"Have you lived at the Castle for a long time?" Anna asked, genuinely curious but also wishing to  
escape the other woman's questioning.  
"Yes," she said. "I have been here as long as the Keeper himself, he is not the only one to whom these  
walls belong. I know a man much greater than he, much surpassing him in his craft. He has left this  
ruin and returned to the golden cathedral upon the mountains where all holy men dwell. He chose me  
as his beloved, and now I am here, reduced to washing your stench away, but you will always reek of  
the mud and filth you came from," she spat.  
"I do not know you, I have done you no wrong," Anna's eyes grew moist, causing her greater shame  
and embarrassment.  
"That does not matter, you are the reason, the despicable reason, you temptress!"  
"What have I done?" she spoke in hardly a whisper.  
"I will tell you, puppet," the girl spoke freely, avidly, for it had been long since anyone listened to her  
words. "I will tell you the very reason you were born and fill your empty head. The man I spoke of, his  
name is Brygus Mergeli, a man once pious and wise, but lured into wickedness by your master. At first  
it was with knowledge that he tempted him, then with power, over spirits and man, then with crude  
opulence, and lastly you, you lurid host of lust! From a heart of lust you spawned, hidden behind a the  
veneer of youth's innocence."  
"I do not understand," Anna stopped her. "I have known no man who looked upon me with lust,  
many frightful beasts have entered my room at night but man is not one of them," she recalled the  
feral Sphinx which she had barely managed to subdue.  
"What airs you put on my dear, bearing yourself like a chaste woman, you are barely woman at all.  
You are pieced together from an insignificant bird and the distorted soul of the man who seeks to wed  
you in a union of narcissism," she smiled a thin smile. "It's a travesty."  
"Pieced together? What is that to mean?" Anna clung to the edge of the bathtub, looking at the girl  
with credulous eyes, images of the Namer's molds and chisels flickering in her mind. Never before had  
anyone spoken to her of how she came to the Castle, perhaps this vehement woman would tell her in  
her fiery words, give her a glimpse of truth to which to cling to. Yet a part of her was filled with great  
dread, not knowing what burdens would be placed upon her conscience, until then much untainted.  
"I will speak slowly then for your wee brain, you need not chirp in distress," the maid sat down in a  
puddle and hugged her knees, ready to speak her part. "This is your tale, I shall tell it plainly and hide  
nothing, for I am a humble honest woman," she put her hand over her chest. "The Keeper, we shall  
call him Amphelios - for that is what he calls himself with those to whom he dare not reveal his name  
– had aided Brygus upon a heretic's path to create his mind in physical form, from the beautiful mind  
of my beloved these walls were born, fragile and white on the outside, damp and dark on the inside, so  
I soon discovered. Together the two priests, or so they had once been, explored these rooms and  
passageways, uncovering the secrets of the subconscience, darker the deeper they went. Some doors  
remain closed to this day, for no one dares disturb them while their master is away, and the master –  
he has grown fearful of himself too, witnessing the acts to which he has aspired.  
But there is more. Within the Castle the lines between illusion and wakefulness wavered for my  
Brygus, thus hindering his reason and the light of truth; as a man of God's calling love of woman was  
forbidden to him, and Amphelios's carnal submission no longer satisfied him, for he used him thus to  
keep his tormenting demons away. But I, a mere cook's servant, was untouchable to him, tainted was  
my flesh, damning him in this life and the next. Even to converse with him behind veils and walls was  
an honor," she glowered, remembering memories from times long passed. "Like Eve, from man you  
were born. A spirit was raised to bind body of beast and human soul. The beast was chosen with care, I  
know for Brygus would write fondly to me of his experiments, and I, a fool, listened oblivious,  
thinking little of such whims and follies. He had considered the noble elk, the brave wolf, the loyal  
horse, but these would not do, to coarse were their natures, lacking in feminine graces. Birds,  
Amphelios whispered to him. A yellow finch was bought from a street vendor, one whose song was  
sweetest to the ear," when the girl spoke some of the venom ebbed away from her voice, recalling the  
vivid world her beloved would describe for her, the passion with which he fulfilled his work. "The  
finch was brought to the castle and there the ungodly spirit was summoned, the catalyst which allows  
the transformation to take place between ordinary elements. A part of one's own soul is always  
required for such a deed, but the Keeper, knowing that Brygus would not sacrifice his salvation, gave  
of himself. The debt he owed to his master was not small for the knowledge bestowed to him by the  
older man. The memories you bear are only his and the pitiful creature's shown to you in surreal  
forms, whether in dreams or nightmares, only in the Castle walls do you truly exists, if such could be  
called an existence. The poor man knew not what enticing forms the Devil takes, hidden behind masks  
of loyalty and sacrifice Amphelios laid out his dear friend's corruption and his own. Brygon desired to  
love an ethereal woman, to love with purity and cast away the youth who was like a devil to him, who  
loved him not. In his mind's eye her flesh was but a mirage, the act of fornication but a symbol of man  
and woman uniting in pure oneness. With such adorned words my beloved was seduced, scoring the  
real, the pleading warmth within my bosom, for that of a…a concoction, a mockery of God's Creation.  
He could not rest, his mind broiled in lust but faintly masked, he hoped thus to cheat God of his vow  
of purity and escape from his sins. He hoped to make you his own, he hoped that you would bear his  
child, an Idea, this child would be, born from the womb of the Woman Eternal. But the night when  
my beloved's desires were to be fulfilled your fickle master's will weakened, he could not bear to see his  
soul defiled as his body had been by the man he so loathed and admired, who taught him all that he  
knew," the maid paused, stopping to revel in the wide-eyed gaze of the other's face.  
"He forced Brygon from his mind palace, transforming the halls into his own and retreating into its  
depths. His master was barred from the fruit of his labours. Long he mourned you, his ideal, his  
goddess!" the scorned woman spoke with derision. "But you will help me. You owe me that much. My  
beloved still lives, in much anguish continues his toil, and though his heart is mutilated he may still  
remember one who is compassionate, one who is faithful to this day. Twenty two years it has been!"  
she howled, breaking down in tears.  
"I am sorry, please if I could—"  
"Silence!" she wiped her face with her sleeve. "When you meet him, the Keeper, you will give him  
this," the maid instructed, taking a small journal wrapped in worn leather from the pocket of her  
apron. "Tell him to take it with him on his next journey to the cathedral. You must insist on this, as  
your debt to me."  
"What is it?" asked Anna, carefully taking the volume from the maid's cold hands.  
"It is my memories, I must remind him and fill him with anguish, make him repent for the pain that  
his neglect had caused me. Make him return to me and find me here, forgotten in this amalgamation  
of his own mind and that of his treacherous student. I will open the door to him and let him do as he  
will to Keeper."  
"I do not know if that would bring him back to you, surely he knew of the depth of your love and the  
weight of his transgressions before my master banished him, it cannot be that he has truly forgotten,"  
Anna frowned, considering how she may aid the troubled woman.  
"I love him!" she shrieked, her cheeks burning with anger, shocked at the woman's impudence.  
"I know," Anna looked at her with compassion, reaching out her hand to her.  
"You know nothing of love!" she hissed, "You are but a devil's whore!"  
Suddenly she pounced upon Anna, pulling at her hair and evoking pained shrieks from her victim.  
Water splashed everywhere yet the maid cared little, intent upon venting her torment. The commotion  
sent the violet figure of Catharina back into the room, followed by a group of maids huddling behind  
her, eyes wide in astonishment, her face contorting wildly.  
"Away! Away you wicked thing!" Catharina beat the maid with her powdered arms while the maids  
pulled at her by the fabric of her drenched clothing.  
"I-I'm sorry " Anna gasped, shaken with dread, "It was not my fault, I-I do not know her, what  
happened to her –" A part of her doubted these words, uncertain of the years of which she bore no  
memory.  
"Do not fret dear, save your nerves, it is alright," Catharina put her arms around the shivering figure,  
pressing her close to her bosom. "I will get you some more towels and clothing, wait here my shivering  
bird," she rubbed the goosebumps on Anna's shoulders, wrapping her in a shawl and exiting the room  
once more. The words disturbed the girl further still, echoing the truth that may lay in her maid's tale.  
Furtively, Anna crouched down by the bath and picked up the soaked little journal, tucking it away  
under her shawl.


	7. Chapter 7

Catherina sat Anna before a boudoir of mahogany. Upon it were assorted trinket boxes, perfumes,  
combs, jars, and brushes. Behind her stood a display of boxes filled with jewelry. The other woman's  
painted fingers held up one necklace after another before the mirror, pressing it to Anna's throat and  
causing a slight shiver from the coldness of the heavy silver against her bare skin. She still felt shaken  
from the piercing gaze of the scorned maid, who had been dragged from the bath hall down unknown  
corridors, the young woman did not know if she would ever see her again but the thought felt her with  
guilt and dread. What ensued after Catharina's reappearance felt like a murky vision to her, the maid's  
howls ringing as though in echo, her hands clutching the journal, lest it be taken from her. She longed  
for peace from the ceaseless vanities and ornamentation to which she was subjected to, not knowing if  
it was by the Keeper's will or by that of the Namer's wife that she was kept waiting. However, she  
could not deny a certain pleasure which the treatment brought to her; allowing herself to pretend that  
she were in a fairytale, a noble lady, worthy of such splendor. Particularly she enjoyed the sensation of  
the silk dressing gown against her skin, the dazzling light cast by the chandelier above the boudoir, the  
smell of flowers freshly picked. She delighted in the glowing sliver of moon seen from the tall alcove  
windows and the ornate carvings upon the furniture depicting nymphs at play in their forest kingdom.  
Upon the vanity sat a porcelain bowl filled with strawberries, and although she dare not reach out for  
them, having them there added further sweetness to the moment.  
Her already pale skin was further powdered white, her eyelids, even her lips, were made up in this  
fashion and with a sharp needle Catharina pierced her tender ears, holding the girl firmly so she would  
not fret, and then pushing through the golden points of pearl earrings. Queasily Anna felt her  
throbbing earlobe and the smooth raindrop shapes that hung from them.  
"You look beautiful dearest," Catharina beamed. "And now for the dress."  
She left Anna to gaze at her reflection while she unwrapped the gown of heavy embroidered fabric.  
"Up, up!" the woman called, beckoning her to put on the garment. The white lace covered her arms  
and her neck and over her head a trailing veil was pinned in place with pearl studded broaches.  
"Do not remove your veil tonight," Catharina instructed.  
"Never?"  
"Not even when you lay down to sleep, especially not then."  
"Why?"  
"It must be so," she replied dismissively, tying up her boidice with a sharp tug upon the lace. Anna  
sucked in her breath. "Now wait here, I will be back."  
Anna delved into the world of her imaginings to make up for the unpleasantness of uncertainties.  
Instead they were to become for her beautiful mysteries. She heard voices in the hall and could not  
help but wonder.  
"Look at her! Just look at her!" Catharina ushered the familiar old man through the doorway.  
"I can hardly see her!" the Namer chuckled, looking upon his wife's work hidden behind the folds of  
fabric.  
"Why must I wear the veil?" Anna asked him.  
"You shall both wear a white mask for the Twelve Days, you shall not see his face either, not  
completely, the mask ought to be a resemblance of him, and yours of you. I have it here," the Namer  
reached into his satchel and gave her an item wrapped in cloth. Carefully she unwrapped it.  
Upon he lap lay her delicate face, eerie and serene, taking on the beauty of pagan goddesses etched in  
marble.  
"By a skilled master's hand many a plain face is made noble," Anna smiled at him in gratitude.  
"True beauty is artless," the man replied.  
Catharina's lips tightened ever subtly as she stirred a pot of gold flakes.  
"Leave us now – there is much to be done," she ushered him back, taking the mask from Anna for  
safekeeping. "Sit still my dear."  
"May God watch over you and give you no greater burden than your shoulders may bear, seek peace  
and seek virtue," he pressed her hand warmly.  
She watched him leaving, wondering if she might see him again.  
The young woman spread her fingers as Catharina had directed her, giggling lightly from the tickling  
of the brush's soft sable bristles, coating them in gold. Her feet were given a similar treatment, though  
she knew that many of the gold flecks would likely be rubbed off when she walked.

She carried a bouquet of white orchids with a center of violet. Their stems were tied with a ribbon of  
silk.  
He wore the black sapphire wedding mask of the groom and a habit much like a priest's, covering his  
neck and has arms, only thin hands revealed skin. His fingers were dipped in gold, as hers were. Long  
dark hair fell past his shoulders. She could only see him in relation to things, like a quilt of keepsakes.  
It was him after all who had kept her in the castle for so long, the faceless man who stole her away,  
taking her from a place that was little more than a dream, a memory fading with wear, recollected  
many a sleepless night.  
She raised her head and looked out at the vaulted ceiling above, a deep blue spangled with stars.  
Through the translucent fabric she beheld the veiled figures kneeling in rows upon red cushions, she  
breathed in the strong scent of the incense. At the end of the isle a large basin stood to which water  
followed in a stream like a waterfall. It amazed her to think of the feat of creating a work of such  
beauty, certain that the otherworldly played its part in the creation.  
Two women in red stood to her left and to her right, leading her onward.  
She felt every sensation acutely, even the cold of the stone beneath her bare feet.  
They carried water from the basin in cupped hands and poured it upon her, to her amazement  
dissolving the fabric of the dress as though it were made of snow, until only a white robe remained.  
Anna stood taller, seeing him approach her, holding her breath.  
He took her in his arms while she allowed her body to go limp, allowing him to lower her into the  
water. Amphelios held her head above the surface and passed his fingers through her hair while the  
young woman closed her eyes from the vacant expression of his mask, she knew that through its  
features he saw her as she saw him by the magic of the Namer.  
The Keeper bathed her hands from the white and the gold, she could see the glimmering flecks floating  
upon the milky water, with gentle movements he washed her cheeks and her legs. She tried not to  
smile, feeling her strange bliss an inappropriate emotion for the ritual which she knew not of.  
He took her from the water and passed her dripping form into the open arms of a dark skinned  
woman that waited to receive her.  
The heavy figure's head was without hair, her stomach and breasts fleshy and bare as she stood nude  
before the basin.  
There was a fullness about her every feature, her swollen lips, her watery dark eyes.  
Anna's emerald eyes grew heavy.  
Through closing slits did she see the Keeper as he removed his robe.  
As though of shadow the room's presence began to wane.  
Warm hands enclosed her and she fell into deep sleep.  
The Earth Mother was taking her back to her womb to be reborn.  
He would take him too.  
She would make them one.

Anna sat in the armchair opposite from him, simply gazing at the figure before her, a statue that did  
not move. Each morning she would sit there. Each morning she was adorned in white and in gold.  
Although she could not see his eyes she knew that he did likewise, for how could one not? Beholding a  
perfect stranger to whom one's soul was bequeath. She watched his chest move as he breathed.  
Carefully he poured a fragrant tea from the pot, it was not like any smell she could recognize,  
searching her mind for memories of the flowers and herbs that she knew. He poured the amber liquid  
first in her cup and then in his, offering it to her. She took the teacup from his hands, wincing slightly  
as their fingers touched.  
The dress felt cumbersome, stifling her breathing. At times she wished that she could holder her breath  
forever and turn into a statue, to watch unobserved, without shame, to scrutinize the faces that beheld  
her, not fearing that they did likewise.  
Anna could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her ghostly cheeks burning crimson under their layer  
of white. She dared not speak nor he. In heavy silence they waited.  
The fasting of the Twelve Days.


	8. Chapter 8

From morning until nightfall, Anna was ushered through the rites and rituals of the Twelve Days.  
Before the first light of dawn a maid would bring her tea in a delicate white cup that seemed so light  
and fragile that she felt anxious for it whenever she held it in her hands. Often this sweet smelling  
drink was accompanied by fresh fruits which she did not know by name, but they were sweeter still as  
she savored them in her mouth like delicacies. After she finished her meal one maid would take away  
the cup and empty bowl while another would help her undress for her bath, although she found the  
assistance unnecessary she dared not protest. Once she was clean another white robe was offered to  
her.  
Thus prepared, she was led to a study the walls of which were covered in books, preserved by glassdoored  
cabinets. Upon the shelves was an assortment of trinkets and boxes which she had ample time  
to admire for she was left in this room with little instruction, after being seated upon a large cushion  
that lay on the embroidered carpet in an oriental fashion. Her husband sat in an armchair not far from  
her with a book on his lap, though as during their first meeting, neither could remove their mask.  
Sometimes she would try to peer at the title of the book he read but this was to no avail, it too was  
inscribed in a foreign tongue. She did not know whether this was part of a particular ritual or if they  
were merely passing the time, suspecting the latter, the young woman kept the better part of the  
morning from becoming tedious by venturing into the world of her mind and by committing to  
memory and introspection all that she saw.  
After sunset, Anna and her husband dinned in a room with glass walls situated on the roof of the  
castle, it was filled with many strange plants that bloomed from black painted urns, some of them  
marked with etchings of suns, moons, fish, and other mysterious symbols. The meal consisted of a  
whole grain loaf filled with a sticky red bean paste that was sliced and served with a hearty gravy, by  
the end of this meal the rumbling of her stomach was not be subdued. There was always a large pitcher  
of water waiting for her in her room from which she drank plentifully, imagining a succulent dish with  
every gulp. Sometimes this meal would be accompanied by an amber colored broth with a few sparse  
pieces of fish, although she was not partial to the fish she swallowed it nonetheless, not only to keep  
from offending the host but also to keep up her strength. What she look forward most were the lovely  
candied flower petals that would mark the end of the meal, presented to her in a golden dish by her  
husband, she nibbled on them and relished their sweetness. This ritual was repeated each day with  
the same minute steps; he would first wipe his lips with the white silk napkin and take a sip of his  
water and then leave his seat to kneel by her side with the precious offering. What she could not help  
but marvel at was that he seemed to hold nothing in his hands as he approached her, and she had  
many opportunities to watch them carefully, it was as though the delicacy would appear out of thin air.  
It was only on the third day that this secret was revealed to her, at least in part.  
During the times when she was left alone in her room Anna would watch the sky in anticipation,  
noting that the rites of the Twelve Days seemed to take part at particular hours, when the sun began to  
rise she perched on the edge of her bed, admiring its ethereal glow, her stomach whirling with her  
many thoughts and emotions.  
When the maids came for her on the second day she could at first recognize the familiar path to the  
glass room, surprised that she was to take another meal so soon after the breakfast before the dawn,  
meager as it was, yet they led her further still, past the plants that threatened to overcrowd their  
confines. A door was revealed to her with a golden handle engraved with a lion's head holding a  
triangle in its jaws, a bar crossed the triangle a third of the way from its peak. By the maid's gestures,  
she was told to open it, and so she did, revealing the cold cobblestone.  
She turned at the sharp sound of the door being closed behind her, indeed with a pang of fear, for the  
wind billowed frightfully at such a height. Never had she truly left the castle walls, it appeared to her  
that the glass room was one step towards such a goal, and the exposed rooftop was a step further still.  
Anna walked ahead, bearing the goosebumps that covered her legs, her arms wrapped around herself  
to retain some of the warmth within her. The castle was vast and so it took some time before she could  
see the edge of its walls, unknowingly she held her breath as she approached the iron railing and  
looked over it, gaping at the plummeting distance between herself and the jagged rocks below. She  
expected waves to lap against them as though she stood atop a lighthouse at sea but it was not so, the  
dark waters below were still and foreboding. Suddenly she heard footsteps and so she forced herself to  
look away, her hands gripping the railing tighter still, she could not say that the sight of him was a  
complete surprise to her, for the rituals often involved both her and her husband together, yet she  
wished she could have more time to examine and reflect upon the sight below in peaceful solitude.  
He was dressed in a black fur and carried a white one in his arms that reminded her of an animal  
being brought back from a hunt. She did not know what sort of animals dwelled in these lands or  
whether he had ever captured such a beast with his own hands, but to imagine such things brought her  
a certain delight in how much it contrasted to the surreal and slow pace that her life had always held  
for her. She longed to run through forests and breathe in the fresh air uninhibited, Anna thought of  
herself on horseback racing over dry leaves that would rustle under heavy hooves, she imagined the  
noble creature drinking from a stream as they paused to rest together at a clearing, the sun filtering  
through the foliage overhead. This had been a recurring dream of hers, inspired by the painting that  
hung in her room, depicting three men on horseback who seemed to be soldiers, this was one of many  
works that occupied her mind during the lonely hours, she was glad for company of these images,  
knowing that she would miss them if ever she were to part from them,  
Amphelios drew close and wrapped her in the fur with a swooping motion, like a great bird taking her  
under its white wing. Instinctively she could not help but flinch as the heavy coat engulfed her, not  
knowing in her heart whether the man was her captor or her protector. She longed to see his face,  
believing that it would reveal some of his secrets to her. At the same time she felt grateful for her own  
mask, not wanting him to see her secret world - not yet.  
He offered her his arm and she took it demurely, allowing him to lead her away to another side of the  
castle roof. She leaned on him slightly and took pleasure in the subtle closeness of shoulder against  
shoulder between the layers of fur. They walked slowly to an iron-cast bench and sat down; there was  
no longer a railing that separated them from the sharp edge between stone and air. Anna recoiled at  
the thought that flitted through her mind as she recalled the dark green waters below which had been  
calling to her for many years, as though sensing this, the Keeper rose from the bench and led her in  
back in the direction from whence they came.  
Upon their return to the glass room a thin dark skinned woman waited for them at the entrance while  
a gray maid kept the door open from the vehement wind. She held a bouquet of white orchids, each  
with a center of violet, their stems were tied with a silk ribbon. They were offered to Anna and  
accepted with a bow, abiding by the unspoken vow not to speak which seemed to permeate the castle.  
The young bride breathed in their lovely scent and felt the velvet texture of the petals with her delicate  
fingertips. She kept them by her bedside that night and admired them when she awoke from her  
dreams, they lasted until the next sunrise and then crumbled into a red chalky substance that remained  
on her nightstand. She scooped it up in a handkerchief and tied the packet with a hair ribbon, tucking  
it away in one of the drawers  
On the third day her favorite ritual took place, that of the White Hall, a grand room decorated with  
Grecian columns and urns of chalk that crumbled when music was played to reveal engravings of gold,  
for a fair-haired youth was playing a beautiful melody on a lute that caused the columns to shiver. The  
floor writhed in tiny chalk serpents that were separated from her feet by a layer of glass like an  
otherworldly aquarium. The room was so brightly lit that at first her eyes stung to look upon it, yet no  
light source could be discerned. As her eyes adjusted she could see that the boy's skin, too, was  
painted white, even the locks of his hair. Only his attentive green eyes and gold laurel crown kept their  
color. He gave her a satchel of gold dust and instructed her to think of something beautiful. After that  
she was to take a handful of it and throw it into the air. Anna knew that he was to be but a servant to  
the ritual yet she could not help but admire his beauty and animated face, unlike that of her husband  
and the somber maids which reminded her more of chess pieces than of living beings, they, like  
herself, seemed to be limited to the steps prescribed to them by the Twelve Days. But that was folly,  
she quickly realized, he too was no different.  
She did as he told her, unable to suppress her joy as it fell like shimmering rain, casting a form of a  
majestic golden harp.  
"Thank you!" she beamed, marveling at the beautiful gift.  
"It is not from me," the boy replied, respectfully bowing his head to her before he too turned to golden  
dust.  
She gasped as the lovely form disappeared before her eyes. Kneeling down she ran her fingers through  
the heap of golden dust on the floor, wondering what would happen if she were to throw this gold into  
the air as well and think of the boy, but she dared not to, knowing that it would be to go against the  
rites of the mysterious ceremonies. This was not the first time when she was tempted to break these  
rites which she was kept to by a mixture of fear and respect, not understanding, she wished that  
someone would speak to her.  
Anna accepted all that appeared and disappeared as though in dreams, it was all she could do.  
The young woman's thoughts had almost abandoned the beautiful harp, it was by the Keeper's  
approach that she was reminded of it; she looked up from the golden ashes and crouched beside it, not  
knowing what was expected of her. He knelt beside her and began to play. She listened gratefully, in a  
way relieved. Anna basked in the melody for a few minutes until his slender hands came to a pause,  
leading her wrists to the golden strings; with some hesitation she made herself more comfortable and  
got into a position to play, through their wordless language the young woman knew that he would  
teach her how to use the lovely instrument, and so it was. He sat beside her with his legs crossed and  
had her repeat the movements of his hand and to listen carefully to the notes that would arise. Several  
hours passed in this way and in time she was able to play on her own with some confidence, bringing  
herself great pleasure by this accomplishment. She imagined that the magnificent harp could occupy  
many a lonesome day, at last her soul could be devoted to creating something of beauty, perhaps, when  
she became more proficient in the art, she could accompany y the sound of the instrument with that of  
her voice. She was grateful to her husband for the gift, and so she smiled for him, a smile hidden  
behind the white mask.  
On the fourth day, an elderly woman brought her a mooncake upon a golden dish with a winding  
inscription like a coil of a snail. She could not read the symbols upon it but listened the soft voice of  
the woman, she spoke as though in prayer, her head bowed;  
For the Twelve Days you are no longer woman nor man but the Eternal,  
The union of sky and earth, moon and night, creation and destruction,  
You shall know each other by Spirit,  
Your souls shall dance the Tandava.  
At the end of the chant the woman took the cake and crumbled it with her hands onto the plate.  
"Open the window and hold the crumbs in out in your hand, the spirits will take your worries, fears,  
and troubles and carry them away. They will carry away your soul to the Moon Goddess and she will  
bless you," the woman took Anna's hand and pressed it reassuringly, smiling with adoration and  
humility. Leaving the platter at the young bride's bedside, she bowed and left the room, closing the  
door behind her.  
Anna did as she was instructed, holding the crumbs in her cupped hands, held outstretched as tiny  
black and white birds alighted delicately upon her slender fingers. She breathed in the fresh cool air  
that came from the open window, it seemed to revive her. With great delight she watched the honey  
colored crumbs disappear one by one, taken away in tiny beaks. Anna could not remember a time  
when she had smiled so brightly, so much joy was brought to her by the small creatures, she felt a  
bond with them straight away, remembering her yearnings of seeing the world and all of the lives that  
it carried. The young woman looked out at the endless swampland and the wizen trees that jutted out  
of it like totems, gazing further she imaged she saw the outline of a lush forest on the horizon, a world  
beyond the white walls.  
On the fifth day, after the early meal, Anna returned to her room, waiting for the mysteries that were  
to come and replaying in her memory that beautiful rituals of the previous days. The harp had been  
brought to her room and she continued to practice upon it, wishing that she had paper upon which to  
record the songs which danced through her mind; although she did not know the formal language of  
music she already contrived a basic system of recording sounds for future repetition, assigning a  
symbol to each string. By adding a number alongside the symbol she could indicate the duration of the  
note. The strength with which the string was plucked could surely be recorded also. Her desire for  
paper made Anna recall the journal she had been given by the vehement woman who had confronted  
her at the bath hall, she had not seen her since but in the pit of her stomach there was a certain dread  
that one day she would meet her again. The young woman had not dared to open the wrinkled pages,  
torn between curiosity and fear. She would look at its cover for a long time, pass her hands over it, and  
replace it in its spot under her bed.  
Anna returned to the instrument, deciding it was best not to dwell on the unpleasant memory that  
could offer her no more, but just as she was about to touch the chords she heard a knock, not on her  
door but on her wall. She turned with terror, leaping away to the opposite wall. Her prior thoughts  
made her certain that it was the woman who had come for her at last, imagining feral eyes and a raised  
dagger, anger suppressed only so far as to lure her from her room.  
"W-who is it?" Anna ventured to say for the knocking did not stop, it was as though a woodpecker had  
taken residence in the chamber beside hers.  
"Come out little princess!" she heard the cloying voice of a man, his tone almost mocking.  
"I am not a princess," the young woman replied back, not knowing what to say.  
"Oh but you live like one," he replied with a mirthless chuckle. "Soon you will, when your gruel is  
replaced by delicacies, your white cotton robes with silk – "  
"Those things do not matter to me," said Anna.  
He only laughed.  
"Would you like to come out - pay me a visit?"  
"I do not."  
"Why is that?"  
"I do not know who you are. I-I'm not supposed to."  
"Not supposed to!" the laughter grew almost hysterical.  
A silence followed during which Anna waited tensely, her back pressed against the opposite wall.  
Suddenly a crumpling sound was heard followed by leaping footsteps and the slamming of a door.  
An envelope was thrust under her door.  
With great caution she snatched it and unfolded the cream coloured paper within.  
The Jester is the alchemist's envy and wickedness, jealousy and fearfulness, towards the golem that  
plays the part of innocence within his soul. The golem must confront this side in the crumbling Castle  
of the Mind and come to the aid of a friend.  
Anna recognized the Namer's handwriting and it brought some comfort to her that the fatherly figure  
had not forgotten her. Nonetheless it did not do wonders in lessening her fear at meeting the man  
behind the wall. Her only assurance was that if it was part of the ritual surely she would come to no  
harm.  
"So are you coming?" the knocking resumed again, this time more avidly and impatiently. The man  
seemed to be beating the wall with both fists.  
Anna could not move herself from her spot right away, such was her dread, but at last she willed  
herself to do so, not wanting to show fear. With great apprehension she turned the doorknob and  
walked out into the hall; the door beside hers had no marked traits, the young woman had assumed  
the chamber was empty all that time. When the strange man had gone quiet it made her heart lurch all  
the more, imaging that he would pounce on her at her next breath and tear out her liver.  
She knocked on the door, taking in big gulp of air.  
"Come in dear one, by god you're invited!"  
The door was opened by an emaciated man with disheveled black hair and a crooked nose, his eyes  
were piercing amber. She gaped at him and he at her. He wore a rag around his waist and a contrived  
grin upon his face. His posture was hunched and he reeked of musky sweat. The room was like  
prisoner's; with a wooden cot and a soiled mattress, a urinal, and wash basin. Some clothes were  
strewn in corners of the room, papers and an ink bottle lay by the bed, a shaving knife by the wash  
basin. The room had a large window, larger than hers, and the yellowing wallpaper had a flower design  
over which this man had written sentences in a shaky inky hand.  
Given that she was slow to respond to his invitation he took hold of her arm and pulled her in, closing  
the door after her.  
"Make yourself at home," he said, removing his smile for a hungry furtive look.  
"Why am I here?" she asked firmly, trying to regain her composure and feign the strength she hoped  
to muster soon enough.  
"To listen to some stories, you like stories don't you miss?" he took the pillow from the cot and  
dropped it on the floor beside her, indicating for her to sit. She felt bad to do so but did as he told her.  
"Comfortable?" he raised his brows in a grimace of shock that did not seem to suit his words.  
Anna nodded.  
"Now the first thing is – do not lie, never, ever, ever, ever lie," the man shook a finger in the manner  
of a tutor. "Do you understand?"  
Anna nodded again, her fear only increasing. Her eyes were still upon the shaving knife, not knowing  
whether to be glad or worried that it was far away.  
"Good. Now for the story," he rose to pick up some papers from under the bed and returned to his  
spot beside her. The man carefully untied the yarn that kept the package of paper together and began  
to read.  
"Recorded here is the story of Shmool and a nameless man who we will call 99 because it is a number  
as worthy as any," the man looked up in hopes of seeing a smile from Anna but saw none, and so he  
resumed, "99's father was a plague doctor in a well populated city which soon grew to be less  
populated as a matter of course. He was a cold and bitter man who sought out an assistant among the  
orphans, hoping that it would assure him of his own importance if he had someone to treat like a dog.  
The spirited boy which he chose was named Shmool. He followed him about on his errands and  
carried his heavy chest of utensils, marveling and recoiling at all there was to be seen, from his master  
he learned of life, birth, and death. As Shmool grew older and the plague began to subside his  
usefulness grew to be questioned, for the doctor was adamant about his isolation and did not wish to  
keep a servant. It was only by his son's pleading that Shmool remained with the family, accompanying  
the young man to boarding school. How outraged the father would be if he knew that Schmool had  
laid down upon 99's soft bed while his master slept on the floor.  
This was one of the privileges the dark-haired boy gave him during the time of his illness, a serious  
case of pneumonia, which he lived through by a thread. For many weeks the servant was also relived of  
his duties. Shmool spent many a night with his young master sharing stories of his childhood, fond  
memories of his family, taken by the plague. He did not know why he went on, or if 99 even cared to  
listen, but he felt that it had been long since he had anyone to talk to. Even in the orphanage the  
children mostly kept to themselves, not knowing why they had been separated from their families, and  
Shmool was found to be particularly unruly. He told 99 about the orphanage too. 99 said little but to  
Shmool he looked as if he were genuinely listening by a certain gleam in his eyes, and that made the  
lonely youth happy beyond words, to believe that he had a friend. But eventually even 99 grew tired  
and it was time to say goodnight. As Shmool drifted off to sleep he wondered if 99 had finished all of  
his assignments or if his servant had kept him from them.  
The next few weeks went by well enough and Shmool could surely tell that his master had become  
much kinder to him. But still he kept up his façade, not once did Schmool see him smile, nor laugh.  
And Shmool put in extra effort into repaying the kindness his master would occasionally show him.  
He would ask 99 if he was warm enough at night or if he needed another blanket, he took extra care in  
preparing the meals, and when he swept the room he would make sure not a speck of dust escaped, or  
as close to such a goal as could be managed.  
December 21 was a day Shmool expected to dread. At last his birthday had come, and no doubt it  
would go just the same, unnoticed. And so it was a great surprise to him when 99 took him into his  
room and presented him a package. Schmool later found out that the master had discovered the  
significance of the day from the orphanage documents, it was his secret desire to better get to know his  
servant. He eagerly tore opened the wrapping paper, smiling warmly at his master. Oh he had such an  
urge to embrace him! He found his first gift to be a volume for the study of Medicine and Anatomy. It  
was freshly bound and illustrated by hand. He could tell from its quality that it was rather expensive  
and he hardly felt worthy of it. But 99 assured him that he must not waste away the bright mind he  
was given, and it would occupy him as he sat with his master in the lecture halls. This was by way of  
saying that Schmool would be allowed to follow his passion, though in secret, and join the students of  
the higher castes in their studies.  
His second gift was just as beautiful and practical, a fine pair of boots made of brown leather His old  
ones had worn soles and the slush would leak right through them, freezing his toes numb. 99 urged  
him to try them on, to see how well they would fit, the man had gotten the measurements from a the  
old pair. Like magic they were a perfect fit, or so it seemed at a time when he was filled with much joy.  
What mattered most to him was not the book, or the shoes, but the respect and affection which they  
were given. From that day onward Shmool believed ever more strongly that his master would be a  
friend to him, his first friend.  
Shmool would read through the book happily, yet in the back of his mind a dark voice would remind  
him that the knowledge he acquired was useless to him in a world of eyes as hateful as those around  
him. The master could not always protect him.  
One day, 99 left Shmool on his own, having to speak with a professor, giving the other boys just  
enough time to get him, for it was not long before the intruder's presence became known. It was only  
the other's influence that kept them at bay. The first thing they did was take the textbook from him  
and tear its pages, throwing the them into the fire that warmed the school room. Next they kicked and  
pounded him with their fists, to the very ground where he lay covered in violent bruises, waiting for  
his master to return as tears poured down his face. As soon as 99 caught sight of Shmool's small body,  
huddled by a chair leg, he ran up the steps and down the row, crouching beside him and pulling him  
close as if his own delicate arms could protect the Jew. Shmool let himself go limp, pressing himself  
against the dark haired boy and burying his face in his shoulder. 99 frantically apologized for having  
left him there, but of course Shmool did not blame him. How could he have known when those  
serpents would strike? And perhaps it was all worth it, to wrap his hands around the other's waist and  
drench his white shirt in blood that flooded from his nose. It was difficult for them to make it back to  
the apartment, Shmool had to lean against the master the whole time, but when they finally did arrive  
Shmool's wounds were well tended to. The Jew did not mind the sting of the disinfectant nor the  
other's cold fingertips against his back. He wondered why 99's hands were so cold and what it would  
be like to warm them with his own.  
For the rest of the evening Shmool watched 99 from his mattress bed until he drifted off to sleep.  
Although his knees hurt he would not give the boys the satisfaction of making him miss a day of  
lectures. And it was nice too how 99 would stroke his shoulder, looking down at him to ask if he felt  
alright. To which Shmool would look up at him under the desk and whisper his reply.  
The topic of money was one that rarely came up in the household but when it did Shmool took great  
heed to his master's words. 99 told him that his savings were dwindling and so the both of them must  
learn to live more humbly, yet 99 promised that he would try to replace Shmool's book , convincing  
his most trusted professor to lend him one. The reason being so he and Shmool would copy out the  
important passages and diagrams together, perhaps making other copies to sell, yet even this was not  
enough and as the debts grew the two set off to see the Keeper as 99's father instructed, for he too had  
little to spare during the hard times. They took residence in the Castle, 99 served him well and was  
taught the art of alchemy while Shmool assisted him, learning alongside his friend.  
Yet for the ill fated boy such good fortune could not last. It was at an unexpected dinner that Shmool  
and 99 were asked to help the servants with preparing for the reception of an esteemed guest. This  
guest came dressed in golden robes and a sage's beard, but his wise countenance did not match his  
disposition. Although at first he chatted merrily with the Keeper and his staff, the wine he drank  
brought out the vehemence in his temperament. The old man took pleasure in 99's beauty and enjoyed  
the youth's docile manners and so he wished to possess him, he asked the Keeper if he could take the  
servant with him, or rather, he demanded it.  
Although the Keeper's acquaintance with 99 had grown less frequent after his initiation into alchemy  
the master was well aware of what the separation would mean to the two apprentices. Thus Shmool's  
disappointment was great when the Keeper did not intervene and allowed the man to take his friend.  
Shmool could bear it no more and flung the wine from his glass at the old man, finding his remarks  
towards 99 sickly and licentious. The scorned guest rose from his seat with fiery anger and put a curse  
upon the beautiful youth, taking his body and giving him his own, thus 99 wore the wrinkles of a man  
many times his age while the Keeper's guest was as though born anew. So he left, leaving the two boys  
in tears.  
To all that unraveled the Keeper remained silent and from that day Shmool despised him, brooding  
day by day, no longer taking pleasure in his work. It would bring tears to his eyes to look upon his  
friend's misfortune, his lost youth, to which Shmool played no small part, and so he avoided 99's gaze  
and secluded himself with his despair. Meanwhile 99 scorned to let his appearance undermine his  
pursuit of knowledge; directing his mental energy into learning his art was perhaps what saved him  
and won for him the Keeper's respect.  
Thus a rift grew between the two youths, leaving both to wonder whether their bond was salvageable.  
It pained Shmool to see his dear companion exchange smiles with a man he found loathsome,  
spending hours under the Keeper's instruction, making him question the malice within him that he  
could not find the strength to swallow. One may perhaps wonder if what appeared as misfortune was a  
blessing in disguise for the young spirit of 99, for the Keeper was not blind to what had transpired and  
it cannot be denied that guilt playing its role in bringing him to set aside his work and resume his  
teachings with the boy for whom he otherwise had held little interest. It did not take long for the  
Keeper to notice his aptness and eventually 99 was even allowed a role in his master's own projects.  
As time passed, the share of suffering grew heaviest for Shmool. Although his vengeance was for the  
wicked old man, who had grown young through his friend, Shmool fixed his wrath upon the Keeper  
who stood idle while others suffered. It was such men that had truly killed his family, so Shmool  
believed, who were in his eyes far worse than those who wiped blood from their daggers like  
marmalade, they were merely animals. He who knows and feels what goodness and justice are is he  
who must be judged, not the animals who are sick and no longer human. Thus justifying his revenge,  
he rose one night with a torch in his hand and set fire to the Keeper's library, destroying its treasures,  
collected over centuries at great peril and expense.  
He did not strive to keep his deed secret, taking a certain pride in it and for a time believing himself  
righteous. The Keeper was a sensitive man and knew which punishment to bestow. He 99 took under  
his wing and continued his education, Shmool he banished to a distant room hidden in the many  
labyrinth corridors of the castle. For many years the two friends mourned and suffered for each other  
until time worked upon soothing their wounds with a poultice of cobwebs for their memories.  
Thus Shmool became the Shadow, the Mourner, and the Jester and 99 became the Namer."  
This was the last page of the bundle of papers. Shmool knocked on the wall and the maids came in to  
usher Anna away without another word, her eyes wet.


	9. Chapter 9

Coming to her senses, Anna pulled away from the maids' grasp and ran back to the door. She pulled  
at the handle with all her might and knocked upon it with her fist shouting Shmool's name, but no  
reply was heard. At last the door swung open and when it did she saw nothing of what had once been,  
only an empty white chamber, even the grime was no longer there, leaving no reminder of the  
melancholy man who had told her his tale.  
The maids waited for her to collect herself, this time she offered little resistance when they took her  
back to her chamber, deep in thought and ashamed of her helplessness.  
That night her sleep was restless and troubled, she felt she had a certain obligation to the man, as  
though he had offered up a plea to her, hidden behind prideful eyes. She did not know what she could  
do for him, or if he had truly spoken to her. It seemed that many things in the Castle were likely to be  
made of golden dust, beautiful and lonely.  
With eagerness she awaited the morning, resolving to confront the Keeper and insist upon him  
releasing Shmool, surely he had paid his dues in suffering, it was cruelty to separate him from all life  
and condemn him so. Whatever repentance was required had either come to be or never would, it was  
only anger and hatred that could accumulated – no, once the ember of anger died away all that  
remained would be despair, Anna thought, despair and a muddle of guilt. She wondered what she  
would do in such a case, imagining possible means of escape from the chamber such as building a rope  
of bed sheets to scale the Castle wall, but this was child's thinking, she tossed the thoughts away. She  
could not doubt that if there was a means of escape the man would have found it during what seemed  
like many years of brooding, the young woman could not remember if he had mentioned how long he  
had been trapped in the dismal chamber.  
During the late hours a plan glowed brightly within her, not only would it break the silence between  
her and the Keeper, most importantly she would be doing an honorable deed for a stranger who  
perhaps had no one else to turn to. Then another thought struck her; it may have all been a test of her  
virtue, she pondered, for why else would she be made to hear of Shmool's life only to return to her  
room as before and partake in displays of magic; entertaining but trifling pastimes. She noticed the  
note of bitterness that grew from her train of thoughts, instilled by the impression the stranger had left  
on her of her soon to be husband, who appeared to be a weak, cruel, and petty man. Anna chastised  
herself at swallowing the story whole, there was no way of knowing how much of it was truth and how  
much was manipulation. Again her thoughts returned to the idea that it was test of some sort, fitting  
nicely with the mythical themes of stories she remembered reading in a vague distant past that she  
kept close to her heart.  
But as the dawn came her confidence seemed to ebb away with the first rays of sun. As had become the  
custom, the maids dressed and washed her and then sat her down in front of the Keeper. All was laid  
out for the morning tea, usually she had a hearty appetite for all that was served but that morning her  
calling to Shmool's aid worked to subdue it. She drank frequently from her teacup in small sips  
without really tasting anything, only to keep her nervous hands from fidgeting while she scrutinized  
the man before her. Anna could not learn anything more than what she had tried to guess at before,  
nothing seemed to have changed between them on the surface as they went through the silent ritual.  
Taking in a deep breath she tried to muster the courage to speak.  
"It is not right to keep Shmool locked away," she began. "You have punished him enough," Anna  
spoke with all the bravery in her.  
Amphelios set down his teacup, surprised by the woman's impertinence.  
"You are right on both accounts but Shmool has left the Castle long ago," he replied after a long  
pause.  
"Then who was it that I saw?"  
"My memory of his thoughts,"  
"Was what he said true?"  
"A genuine but incomplete story."  
"How did it end?"  
"I cannot say, I have not heard from him since he escaped."  
"What would you like to add to this incomplete story then?" she could hardly believe that they were  
speaking,  
"Only that he tried to burn me in the library," he replied, "Should you be so surprised?"  
"That is a terrible thing to do," she did not know what to say.  
"It does not seem so very terrible to me," he smiled sardonically. "It reminds me of the sins of  
children and animals and thus cannot be truly evil."  
"What are those sins like?" Anna thought she could guess at the answer but decided to ask just in  
case.  
"Like impulses and uncontrollable urges, the more uncontrollable an action is the more it is forgivable  
I would say. But I should not mislead you into thinking that such actions are actually forgiven more  
quickly and more frequently, the wrath of the wronged, too, is forgivable. Isn't it?" he laughed lightly.  
"The guilty are meticulous."  
"Do you think about those things often?"  
"I do," he replied.  
"Why? "  
"Because I feel very guilty. Incessantly guilty."  
"Why? What have you done?"  
"I could never tell you all of it."  
"Is it so awful?"  
"I would not have the breath nor the time to."  
"That is a child's answer, you simply do not wish to speak of it."  
"I would, but in private."  
"But we are alone," she looked about the room.  
"The servants listen and wait at the every door, by every wall."  
"You could dismiss them," she proposed. "Why do you have so many servants? Why are they all so  
cold and unpleasant?"  
"I cannot dismiss them. They give the impression of a great construction, of something grand and  
animated, my own country so to speak. And to have people watching makes one better than he is  
alone in some ways and worse in others. For our purpose it is best to have them now."  
"Why do you need a grand animated country? Is it what you call the Castle? It all seems very gray."  
"Yes, the Castle," he nodded. "I have made it to study myself."  
"It seems awfully excessive. Why not simply think and reflect upon your thoughts, actions, and  
feelings?"  
"Because thinking is very isolating, it makes one withdraw from the world," he took a sip from his  
cup. "But here thinking and doing are one. Everything is imbued with meaning, and I like that, very  
much – for things to have meaning."  
"Because you do not know if the world outside has meaning?"  
"Precisely," he smiled behind his mask.  
She said nothing and so he went on.  
"It is my own very strange way of coping with loneliness," he added. "My servants are cold because  
making them warm would be too self-indulgent."  
"Why not be self-indulgent?"  
"It is shameful and adds to my guilt. Nonetheless that did not deter me from bringing you into  
being."  
"But a part of me is from nature isn't it?"  
"You have been informed correctly, my yellow finch"  
She tried to hide her embarrassed smile at hearing what sounded like a pet name.  
"I respect that you would admit to loneliness. Is that why I am here?" she asked.  
"Yes. "  
"Why not approach me in a more natural way? Why have the Twelve Days?"  
"To learn more about your nature, to bring you pleasure from afar, to create culture and religion, to  
underline the importance of your being, because I am afraid," he decided to speak of all the replies  
that came to his mind after the question was asked, not weighing them beforehand.  
"What are you afraid of?" she was surprised by the last answer most of all.  
"Of us failing one another."  
"How is that possible if you and I are one?"  
"We may be one failed being then, or worse, two disproportionally imperfect parts. You are closer to  
perfection I believe. For you it comes from nature, while I scrape away at it and sometimes scrape too  
much and must start over. It is hard work."  
"You seem to torture yourself needlessly, almost as though you enjoy it."  
"In some way I must enjoy it," he confessed.  
"Why is that?"  
"After many years of thinking I have arrived at what seems like an insight into happiness. Happiness  
must always be a process and not a final objective, something that demands action throughout one's  
life, something that cannot be completed or achieved but give the sensation that one is progressing. For  
example the pursuit of knowledge or beauty. It has a sufficient multitude of forms to occupy me in this  
lifetime and many to come."  
"Even an infinite number of lifetimes? Perhaps those things are finite after many lifetimes."  
"I believe you may be right but to be happy even in this one lifetime would be a significant enough  
blessing for me."  
"You should think and measure less to be more happy."  
"I had arrived at those conclusions too but I am very tenacious about thinking. I cannot relax."  
"Have you given it much effort?"  
"I have not had the leisure, it is only recently that I have retreated into the Castle you see."  
"Where were you before?"  
"I will relate it to a dream that I once had, of a glass box, the Coliseum of Rats I had called it, where  
these vicious creatures would claw away at each other and tear at each other's ears as soon as they  
were released into contact with other rats, it was their impulse, they simply had to in order to survive,  
or rather – they felt it was so, where too busy fighting other rats off to see if it was otherwise. Even  
after I had some time away from the Coliseum and read more about rats I could not possibly come to a  
conclusion about them, there is too much to read, vague things mostly, and too much that was never  
recorded, most certainly."  
"I do not know if I understand."  
"If the Castle seems solitary and cold, the outside world seems vicious and fraught with unnecessary  
difficulties that people seem to bring upon themselves. Perhaps that is unfair of me to say, I will  
correct myself and answer only that the world outside is fraught with difficulties, I cannot yet say  
which are necessary and which are unnecessary."  
"But even in the Castle there are difficulties."  
"There are indeed, but they are stagnant, I can pick them up and leaf through them like books in a  
library. First I will study wrath, then jealousy, then gluttony, and so on. They do not pounce on me in  
the same way as when I lived on the outside."  
"Would you have a world without difficulties if you could? It seems like a sad world in its own way,  
the people in it would not have much to do, to learn about."  
"Yes, there would be no conquests of any sort without adversary."  
"Will you ever go back to the outside world then?"  
"I will, fairly soon in fact, and I will take you with me."  
"When?" she was surprised to hear this.  
"We can speak more of it when the time comes. I do not want to overwhelm you. Would you like to  
continue with the rituals of Twelve Days?" he asked.  
"I would," she replied after some thought. "But we will speak to each other."  
"Very well."

A willowy maid led Anna through a hall filled with a thousand marble busts, each upon a gilded  
pedestal, they were arranged in steps that ascended to the ceiling and resembled men, women, and  
children from a Romanesque era. Her eyes eagerly skirted over the multitude of expressions, the  
haughty, grinning, somber, or regal visages waiting to divulge its secret, and so it was, for the maid  
soon explained to her the magic of the room. With but a touch, each head would become animated  
and its spirit would become her guest. With a final cursory glance about the room, the woman left  
Anna to explore as her whims would lead her. Although the prospect of meeting the spirits filled her  
with excitement a part of her still recalled the tale of Shmool and made her wonder if more heavy pasts  
would be laid upon her, but her curiosity was greater, and a humble desire to lessen the burdens of  
others convinced her to go forth. She decided to begin impartially with the first of the busts and work  
her way down the hall, Anna imagined herself much like a doctor with a line of patients, whose  
ailments must be nowhere but in their heads. The young woman wondered if the spirits lacked bodies  
for a particularly divine reason or only to fit them all into the display hall; what a strange exhibit it  
was, she mused, to display souls like paintings.  
The first of the heads was a grizzly looking man with a scraggly beard and thick lips, Anna felt a  
queasiness in her stomach, hesitating before she touched his white neck.  
"I checked to see if you were breathing," the man's gargoyle face contorted further still. "I took your  
thin hand, yes - these womanly hands which had toiled with the devil, you hide them under gloves.  
Did you ever find a way to wash the blood from their fabric? From the fabric of your mind!" he  
laughed with a strange pleasure. "It is your insanity that protects you from the aftermath, it keeps you  
from being human. But I am your insanity aren't I? I save you from facing who you are. Were you  
ever anything else? Where you ever a man – just a man? Still you are a delicate monster! When I hold  
your body in my arms you are frail and helpless and limp. I see beauty in your vulnerability. Oh yes!  
Madness is a silly old thing, restless and petty, it becomes a comfortable shell all around you, and once  
it begins to crack you cannot help but miss it! You forget who you used to be!"  
Anna removed her hand from the cold stone, feeling that she had had enough.  
The next visage revealed a more serene constitution, a woman whose youth was behind her, a gentle  
smile and moon shaped face made her seem child-like still.  
"Only in a dream, coming true a thousand times, each more perfect than the last, will I find you. The  
warmth of the fireplace and the safety and care of the stranger's presence is enough. I know it's not  
your fault but at this point it's too late to blame anyone else. Hope hides in unusual places –"  
The young woman let go, uncertain whether she had understood. Looking about the hall again, seeing  
all the strangers that waited for her touch, she decided to move ahead more quickly. The touch of  
sorrow in the other's voice displeased her, at the same time a part of her felt ashamed to leave the soul  
behind; she reassured herself with the thought that there was likely nothing that could be done for  
these echoes of the past. Was there no joy in this room? Again she thought of Shmool.  
She hoped that the next head would be more promising.  
"I do not know why but all of a sudden I started laughing!" a mercurial faun man chuckled. "I just  
could not stop. I laughed and laughed until everyone in the room was looking at me. Ha! They didn't  
know the joke. It was all mine. I was at the center of it! I laughed and laughed and -"  
The mad man's laughter did not invite her either, giving her a fright the moment the figure's voice  
began booming down the hall, echoing over the vaulted ceilings.  
She was about to touch the next marble statue when upon closer inspection her hand recoiled, it was  
Shmool. A part of her knew it was her own thoughts that had brought him there. Anna clutched at the  
folds of her dress in thought, debating within herself whether she wished to speak to this troubled man  
again. With a heavy heart she reached out.  
"Sometimes I think that I am not one definite thing but many, in transition. Each taking a turn in this  
body of mine. Do you like me in this costume 99? 'Will you teach me to be good?' " he shrieked. "Is  
that what you want me to say? – Oh it is you!"  
"Yes, " said Anna, not knowing where the conversation would take her.  
"Why are you here?"  
"I was created to be here, I- I do not know exactly," she confessed.  
"You're curious aren't you?"  
She said nothing, and so the man resumed.  
"You're here to listen to the ravings of madmen, did you know?"  
"I didn't," she bowed her head.  
"It's very elucidating. You're a quiet is that so?" he said, not expecting a reply.  
"I never imagined to be in a place like this, not only this room, but everything, all the things that I  
saw seem to be another world to me. It is sad too in a way, few people spoke to me, those that did – it  
was sad strange things," she quickly realized that her words may have offended the other. "Matching  
sad strange lives, I know," the young woman bowed her head lower, feeling embarrassed. "But why  
does the Keeper hold on to these awful things? Are they memories? Are they his thoughts are someone  
else's? "  
The marble bust of Shmool crumbled away into dust and tears welled in her eyes.  
Anna felt a duty to keep going. She listened to voice after voice.  
"Yet at the same time I cannot leave, just thinking about leaving or staying throws me into a basin of  
cold water. My nerves are cooled and the thrill of the hunt sends a tingling sensation down my spine.  
It is all a game, although sometimes the players may get hurt. They always recover, and then we play  
again. This game has no rules, that is why it never ends. No – it has one rule: my greatest enemy is  
my greatest ally. He knows that I will pull him out of the fire and tell myself he would do the same for  
me. In some convolute way I trust him. I admit this to myself having otherwise seen that I have lost all  
sense of reason. All that is left is a warped reality. It makes perfect sense."  
Another.  
"You are a dog. We are both chasing cars. We may catch them every once in a while but we always let  
them go. It is not that we particularly want to but it is impossible to imagine any other way. I try to  
hide how it is I feel when another hand touches you. I wonder if your skin still burns, if it is as  
sensitive as that of someone who is human. Is there any humanity left in you at all? How deep is it  
buried, tell me. When was the last time you had shown mercy? Has anyone shown you mercy? I admit  
that I rarely do, because you are what you are, a devil, a demon, a dog. Yet there is something about  
you demanding sympathy, admiration even. The way you walk with your head held high and a smile  
on your face, like a shamed woman trying to stay in grace, for who, she cannot say. She knows that  
they whisper about her and so perhaps it is for them that she wears the face. Let them whisper, she  
says. I am all alone and so I have nothing to lose. Let the storm come."  
Another.  
"An exercise in anxiety. A beast with horns like an elk and winding lock of hair like a dark lion's  
mane. A long thin snout and beady eyes. They call him the shape-shifter, the boy who breathes out  
dolls. He consumes the child's soul and replaces it with a spell which makes the boy or girl the  
parents' perfect child. It took him years to from such a complex spell and now it is the basis of his  
success and renown throughout the city. The spell reads the parent's thoughts and forces the child to  
respond accordingly. And if ever the parents suspects something is wrong with their child, then the  
spell does what it takes to convince them otherwise, bringing up the traits in their child that would put  
their mind to rest."  
Another.  
"Each day she would write one letter on the back of her hand to spell out "I love you". So whoever, if  
anyone, was paying attention would know that their feelings were requited. – a lonely pale girl with  
straw colored hair who lived in the castle, surrounded by old dresses that were once rich."  
Another.  
"You are always up to your antics, you do not know when to stop do you? You are always wanting me  
to chase you, chase after you in an endless labyrinth, one which even you do not know the way out of.  
I do not know if I could ever express what it is that has been done to me. I despise you. My insides  
churn and convulse, strangling me from within. My rage boils in a closed cauldron, I want to bring my  
wrath on any being that crosses my path. I see red. It flashes before me in the most unnerving way. I  
want to howl."  
Another.  
"Once summoned, the Sphinx has to bond its own aura with that of a being of the new realm to  
stabilize it. Often this is done by consuming the other being's soul and body, but if the being is willing  
and would allow the Sphinx to keep in contact with it for a length of time then slaying the summoner  
would not be necessary."  
Another.  
"I want to grab you by the wrist and pull you in this way and that, imagining that at this point you do  
not speak, you do not laugh mockingly at me, you are only a puppet in my hands. Your face is  
expressionless. No, it is surprised! Curious! I grip your wrist tighter and tighter, so much that it begins  
to hurt. Then I let go, my lip quivering. I realize that I am causing you pain. Then I take your hand,  
griping it firmly as well. I hold on to it as we fall endlessly through darkness. It is only the two of us  
there, just you and I, falling, falling. I imagine that there are flames waiting for us at the bottom so I  
pull you closer. Your eyes closed, your body is cold, cold and wet. I hold you closer still, hearing your  
heart thudding gently in your chest. A comfort to me. It beats louder and louder in my ears, like  
thunder approaching. Like a drum. I burst with tears for what I feel is fear. It erupts from me, after all  
the years I have fought to suppress it. It found me. You found me."  
Another.  
"Make them go away! Please make them go away!"

He saw her in a corner of the room, crying into the fabric of her dress. It was some time before she  
noticed his presence, quickly trying to wipe away the tears.  
The Keeper placed a hand upon her shoulder and brushed the hair from her face.  
He beckoned her to follow him.  
Anna forced herself to stand.  
He led her to a door which he opened with a silver key.  
She stepped inside as she imagined he expected of her but to her surprise he did not follow her, instead  
he bowed slightly and closed the door after her. Some time passed as she perched tensely on the edge  
of the bed, imaging that at any moment he would return, yet the hours passed by and behind the door  
there was only silence. When fatigue began to affect her too strongly she allowed herself to lay down  
upon the bed, it felt soft like a cloud, she smiled in delight at such a luxury. Without changing out of  
her dress she wrapped herself in the heavy blankets, creating a cocoon of sorts for herself.  
She lay upon the bed for several hours until her light sleep was disturbed by the turning of a  
doorknob.  
Her eyes fluttered open and then shut again, Anna decided it would be best to feign sleep.  
He approached the bed and gently lifted the covers.  
It was difficult for her to remain completely motionless, without so much as a twitch, she wondered if  
he believed her ruse.  
Anna felt a cold hand upon her shoulder and then the touch of his lips. She shivered, opening her  
eyes.  
She saw the porcelain face with its somber vacant eyes lit only by the moonlight that filtered through  
the diaphanous curtains.  
The Keeper laid down beside her and neither one of them spoke. The night grew cold and Anna  
hugged a pillow to her chest to stop the queasy feeling that grew inside induced by her nervousness.  
He saw his hand close to hers, a silhouette upon the white bed covers, though their fingers did not  
touch. Slowly the slender hand reached her shoulder, touching it lightly and reverently. She let go of  
the pillow and drew closer. Eventually the two bodes came together in a timid embrace, each soul  
filling the other with warmth.


	10. Chapter 10

Anna watched him as he dressed, in a way feeling glad that she did not yet have to leave the comfort of  
the blankets, yet sorry that she may be left alone for much of the day.  
"Where are you going?" she asked.  
"I must go to work," Amphelios replied, he did not look at her as he buttoned his dress shirt.  
"Your clothes look different than usual," the girl observed. "What sort of work do you do?"  
"I am going to a place where such clothes are the custom, where I do what I am told. It is a matter of  
sameness, of belonging and duty and guilt" he said wearily. The words sounded very childish in his  
mind. Sameness and difference were trivial in themselves and belonging and duty were important to  
him as a means and not an end. It could be said that he saw them a light of disdain at times.  
Moreover, doing certain things for their own sake did not bring much good, so he believed in a  
careless fashion, for axioms and statistics delighted him. In his youth he fancied the pursuit of  
knowledge, but as he got somewhat older he settled for statistics on what is probable and observable.  
Grandiose aspirations were well trodden territory and seemed to him unsustainable in the realm  
outside the Castle, to which he was bound. Of course to this belief, too, guilt was attached.  
"You do not like to answer questions directly," said Anna, rather displeased by such a reply.  
"Yes," he said. "That is because I know very little. As soon as I say something I begin to dread that  
perhaps it is not true."  
"That must be an awful lot to dread, as it accumulates," the young woman sat up and adjusted her  
night gown.  
"Indeed, I am in a constant state of dread," he said earnestly in a sardonic tone as he did when he  
spoke of something he believed was particularly likely to be true.  
"And guilt, of course?"  
" Why yes, how did you know?"  
"The two fit well together."  
"So they do," he nodded, putting on his socks.  
"Tell me more about your work," she tried to smile.  
"Very well," the Keeper paused to think for a moment, the words did not come readily to him and the  
longer he thought the more he wished to leave the question unanswered. "It is rather unimportant  
really – it would not interest you," he said at last.  
"Oh but surely it does! I would not have asked otherwise," she forced a bit of laughter.  
"Well then, it does not interest me," he replied more honestly this time.  
"I see," Anna sank back into the bed. She did not feel like herself very much. The conversation seemed  
strange to her, a thing distant and forced, like her laughter and his manner of speaking.  
"I am sorry if I seem unhappy, I truly am glad – about you, that you are here," he spoke to break the  
silence that had fallen over them. Amphelios turned to look at her, admiring her beauty in a  
surreptitious manner, as though he were not meant to gaze too long at that which is in some unknown  
way forbidden and in a plain way tempting. He felt that such a gaze would reveal too much of the  
shameful or unwanted emotions that may or may not yet be.  
"I did not think that exactly, that you were unhappy. Do you think that you are?" she asked, hoping  
that the question was not too prying.  
"In some sense I know that I am and always will be."  
"I thought that you did not let yourself know many things, of all the things that you may choose to  
believe that you know, why choose such an awful one?" she asked, disappointed that he had marked  
himself down among the unhappy when there was so much mystery left within the Castle and outside  
of it.  
"Because I am too afraid to do the things that I imagine would make me happy," he answered, sitting  
down beside her, telling himself that he did not mind being late for work, but minding.  
"Why?"  
"Because I am more afraid that if I decide to do them I will discover that they would not make me  
happy after all. I am deathly afraid of disappointment, but that is not to say that I am not  
hardworking, I fervently peruse a great many things for the maintenance of my pride. I am quite  
accomplished in the real outside of the Castle, and as for within it, I am practically a god. Here I have  
the power to make imperfect things that will worship me, so that I may fret over them and meddle in  
my own haphazard way," he smiled with mock satisfaction.  
"Do you mean all of the things that you say?"  
"The more pithy, the more I think that I mean them at a given moment, and the more likely I am to  
forget them – lest you listen to closely to them. Then I would worry and worry to no end that you  
may have believed me!" the Keeper laughed.  
"But it is true isn't it - that you're afraid of disappointment?"  
"Why certainly, is there such a person who is not?"  
"How dismal to answer fear with fear. But what if they would make you happy, those things that you  
so dread will forsake you?"  
"Oh but I must not take the hope away, that somewhere there is a light, I cannot take that risk. It is  
like the moon, you look up at it and wonder and dream. If ever we were to stand on it, touch it,  
measure it, and mark it as our own - then it would lose all of its holiness. It is the unknown that is  
powerful," Ampehlios told her, quite proud of his aphorism, regardless of whether it were true. Already  
he could think of many examples to support it; the mystique of actors and actresses, governments and  
lovers, diseases and weather.  
"Still, I think it is very cowardly of you," she said bravely, no longer feeling as intimidated by him  
now that she knew him somewhat better. Anna wondered if such was really the case, about the power  
of not knowing.  
"I agree wholeheartedly," he said nonchalantly, a part of him took a certain pride in his surrender.  
"One day I will tell you a story and it will make more sense to you, be patient for now."  
"Do you have to go to work soon?" asked Anna, hoping that he would stay with her for much longer  
still, wanting to know more and hopefully hear the story.  
"I ought to have left already, but as I am terribly late I shall not go, it will probably be worse to go at  
this point – I will tell them I am ill, for soon I shall be," he explained, in his usual manner.  
"Ill! In what way?"  
"I am awfully sad and soon I will start to bleed and feel nauseous," he laid back in the bed with his suit  
on, not yet entirely decided whether or not to stay or go.  
"Is sadness an illness? Why will you bleed?" her face appeared quite distressed.  
"To the first question: a broken mind is as troublesome as a broken body, even more so," he stressed.  
"And to the second, because my body, as my mind, is broken."  
"Is there any chance that you are exaggerating the state of things?" she asked, thinly veiled was the  
implication for the case against his view of things.  
"Certainly not, have you no sympathy, shall you not entertain by bouts of self pity?" he scowled.  
Feeling rather ashamed of himself, he fixed his displeasure on her.  
Turning away he ruminated about his thwarted expectations for the morning, how he had hoped to  
present himself and how it all truly unfolded. Things never went as he planned them, he wished to say.  
"I do, I'm sorry," she deeply regretted her words, feeling that she had been unkind. "Please forgive  
me."  
"Such forgiveness is only for your benefit and not for mine, I am left as the fool," he covered his face,  
letting himself go all the more so.  
"How are you a fool?" she did not know if she understood him.  
"I made a fool of myself with you, blabbing the first thing that came to mind in a sequence of ghastly  
confessions intermingled with nonsense," he sighed, wishing that he could start over, wondering if  
perhaps he might.  
"It's okay, I am a fool too, everyone is, in their own way."  
"It is banal phrases of that nature that I truly abhor, unless it is I who had said them," he dared not to  
look at her, such was his shame. "Must we argue already?"  
"Are we arguing?" she touched his shoulder and he moved away closer to the edge of the bed, feeling  
ever more so like a child.  
"This is not me, you must believe me," he urged her, wishing to shake the memories from her of the  
conversation that had taken place between them.  
"If it is not you then where are you really?"  
"Be gone!" he wished to slap her and the wish brought him more shame and guilt. Amphelios got up  
from the bed, forcing himself not to look at her, and left the room. Anna was left alone and confused,  
feeling as though she would cry, him feeling likewise. Neither fully knew what had happened.  
Such was the conversation that Amphelios imagined that night, unable to fall asleep. He tried to force  
his mind to stop thinking of scenarios of such a sort in place of ones that were perhaps more  
satisfying, or none at all. The latter would at least lead to a better night's sleep and the hope of more  
fruitful dreams. He looked at the slender form of the young woman lying in the bed beside him,  
finding the darkness of the room to be a peaceful thing, and her presence ever more so if he allowed it  
to be, yet he could not stifle the sense of dread that had fallen over him.


	11. Chapter 11

Dazzling white dust fell from the sky and covered the marshlands with a layer of frost, followed by bright blue eyes as it made its descent upon a lonely windowsill. This slender woman, with her wide eyes and pale goose-bump speckled skin, pulled a blanket over her shoulders to compensate for the diaphanous fabric of her nightgown. Strong gusts of wind would occasionally push her away from the open window but would not deter her for long; such was her ever-growing yearning for the outside world. Although time did not seem to exist behind the walls of the White Castle, it appeared to her that the days and nights had grown longer - leaving her with much idle time to muse over the possible whereabouts of her companions. As was his custom, the Keeper would visit her chambers and present new wonders for her to behold, making the impression upon her that nothing was outside the bounds of possibility. However, in his absences, which would range from a few days to a matter of months, her safe keeping was entrusted to the mute maids in white, whose gaze no longer met hers – such was their deep respect and humility for her honored position in their household. Whether it was their natural form or an illusion, she could not say, but when making their entrance or departure they would take the shape of snowy birds and fly to and from bearing miniature vessels in their beaks and scaled blue legs no bigger than a thimble. Yet when they alighted upon her bedroom floor both the birds and their burdens would grow to a more substantial size, and the birds would be no more – instead appearing before her as maidens in plain but elegant white robes, not unlike her own if its distinct adornments were to be removed.

As was proper and dignified – so the head maid assured her – Anna wore a veil and lace gloves so that not an inch of her skin was to be touched by light. However, she took the liberty of removing such impractical accessories when no critical eyes were upon her, as she did not wish for her view of the marshlands to be forever obscured by white mist, nor where her gentle hands in need of the adornments of brocade. Nonetheless, she kept the seven thin sliver chains which hung from her neck; given that from time to time various charms, bottles, jewels, curiosities, and keys would appear dangling upon them, only to disappear a few hours later.

Such was the transitory nature of the White Castle.

Another peculiar change which occurred since she had grown close the Keeper was the growth of her hair. Never before would it reach such a length in less than a fortnight, spanning all the way to the ground so that it would have taken her the better part of the morning to comb through it. For this reason, a blue bird would on occasion perch upon her windowsill and take the form of her "Lady of the Shears", a maid whose sole employment was to tend to these ever-growing locks.

Unlike the other bird-maids in white, the Lady of the Shears was permitted a tongue by which she chastised Anna for her unruly tangles and fretfulness as she yowled from the pain which her scalp could not endure. Although one might imagine such a guest as being a rather unwelcome one, the young woman enjoyed questioning the stout woman in blue about all that took place outside her room. For example, she had learned that there was a water bearer who filled the clay vessels for the white-maids from secret streams, there were fishermen who brought the trout and eels for her soup, there were gray-maids who gathered seaweed, and a cook who made it all into a concoction meant to be either soup or stew depending on the mood.

Moreover, there were the clerks who took record of the thoughts, acts, and speech of each and every member of the household for each and every day in the Eternal Archive, at which point Anna grew rather incredulous and ill at ease, entertaining the thought that someone had such omnipotence as to read her mind, as well the patience. She wondered as well about the sort of thoughts the white-maids had, as nothing in their demeanor revealed so much as a sliver of sentience.

"Who rea—ouch! reads the records in the E- iek! Eternal Archive miss?" Anna could not help but ask, between strokes of a comb which simply would not budge past a particularly troublesome knot.

The Lady of the Shears shook her head in despair. "Now, now, did you brush it before bed last night – no, I imagine not. Well then, those records – no one reads them," she replied matter-of-factly. "That's not what they're for".

"It's not?" Anna was most surprised. "Then why go through such great trouble, how many clerks are there by the way?"

"74328 clerks," the blue-maid answered without hesitation.

"Is that the truth? How many hairs do I have on my head?" she narrowed her eyes.

"102,115 hairs," the woman replied briskly.

"Ouch!" the young lady yelped.

"102,107" The Lady of the Shears could not help but smile.

That night Anna resolved to do a count, believing it to be most essential in proving, or else disproving, the maid's credibility.

"But you did not answer, why bother with it all?" she insisted.

"That is outside of my realm of knowledge, to muse about the purpose of this and the meaning of that," the maid replied, raising her chin as she began to lecture. "A servant's duty is to be a model of unwavering loyalty and obedience, to follow the master's wishes regardless of one's own reservations. In such a way, the master's house grows strong, by the Oneness of mind of those who serve him; compared to a household that is divided, each with their own opinions and counter-arguments."

"But did you not just speak of the purpose of a servant?"

The woman looked as though she were about to retort but alas the words did not come to her and so she believed a grimace of disapproval would suffice.

"I-I recall hearing that the Archive is a last resort in the case that the world falls to madness, to remember all that was and to return to the point when the White Castle was in its optimal sate, when it was closest to enlightenment. It so follows that we are always upon the path of progress, forever analyzing and correcting this vessel of hours in the turbulent sea of speculation, forgetting and neglecting nothing! The Castle takes care of us all and makes sure that we are not led astray by unsound thoughts and fears.

Another theory is that the Archive exists to uphold the floating world of Now, to distil the fear that makes us look back upon the past and question it ourselves, when our single minds are too feeble to analyze and make suitable conclusions – looking back leads us off the optimal path. The teachings instruct that we must live in the present, if I must put it simply for you, but the cauldrons of bubbling emotions in us all will not allow the weak to turn away completely and never look back. The Archive is their aid and crutch, their comfort. Do you see? There, it is done," she sighed with a satisfied smile, setting the comb down on the dressing room table. "Now remember, 150 brush strokes in the morning, and 100 around noon."

"And ten Hail Marys" Anna whispered, relieved that she was free to leave her seat. She would need some time to reflect on all that had been said.

"What did you say?" the woman gasped. "Where did you hear of such things!"

"I-I'm not sure," she replied, wondering if it was perhaps from a book in the Keeper's library. "I did not mean anything by it, it was sort of a joke."

"A joke? How ghastly!" the woman gaped like the fish heads in the evening soup. "You must not speak of that in the floating world and defile its scared evanescence. It is forbidden to think of the beyond when you belong in the unquestionable Now," she chided her, placing her hands upon the girl's cheeks as she pleaded. "Forget the mud world of mortals dear child! Forget!"

"What is the mud world?" Anna asked.

"Muddled, confused, restless people – yes! Not made of mud per say, but they do live upon it I suppose which is why I thought about it, while here we are far above it in immaculate whiteness, the white walls – yes? Oh it was but a metaphor dear. Dirty, filthy people, not like here where—"

"I must say, your instructing goes against your instructions," the two women turned at the sound of the Keeper's voice from the doorway.

"But you go there don't you? You leave the Castle surely!" said Anna, both pleased and surprised that he had returned.

"Impudent girl," the maid whispered into Anna's ear as she pinched her hard, making her wince at the hot breath against her skin which smelled of onion and trout.

"Not to the 'mud world' of which your maid speaks of per say, but most certainly to a more corrupted place which I shall endeavor to take you to, if you would be so willing," he took off his black sable coat and draped it upon Anna's bed. Anna could not help but notice that he looked more wearied than usual with his sunken cheeks and the sickly hue of his alabaster skin.

"Now sir, if you insist on going against me in the lady's presence however do you hope for me to give her a proper education," the maid returned to combing Anna's hair to keep her fidgeting fingers from giving her away.

"It is hardly your place to educate her, our lady's mind and spirit were immaculate at their conception."

"Such vanity!" she laughed heartily, throwing back her head.

"Perfection is a matter of taste," he smiled at her, taking the comb from the maid's hand and running it through Anna's silk-like hair.

She closed her eyes as he passed his fingers through her hair gently, shivering slightly at the touch of his cold hands grazing her neck.

"I missed you," the young woman said shyly.

"I missed you too," he replied, breathing in her sweet scent as he leaned close to her. "I apologize for my long absence, it is difficult for me to be apart from you."

"Is it true that you will take me with you soon? I know that you had told me so before but I find myself waiting for you often," she confided. "I feel so alone here."

"It is true," the Keeper assured her. "Today marks the New Year by the old calendar – an auspicious year."

Meanwhile, the maid had turned away, as though to give them their privacy, and began to fumble about in her apron. With impatience, she uncorked a flask of blue glass and brought it to her lips.

The Keeper sighed, making his way across the room and with a swift movement removing a bottle from the maid's apron. Anna eyed the amber colored liquid which he proceeded to pour out the window.

"But no! Surely no! It's purely medicinal I swear you sir," the maid grinned mock-apologetically, knowing that her protests were too late to salvage much of the precious contents of the bottle and also that she had not the talent to feign conscientiousness.

"Leave us please," the Keeper told her.

"Permanently or temporarily?" her expression suddenly contorted into one of horror, uncertain about how to interpret the vague expression of his voice.

"Temporarily," he said after a brief pause.

"Thank you my most gracious master, I wish you much rest and eternal joy" she bowed profusely and then departed out the window in the form of a bird with wings which did not seem proportional to the mass of its body. The young woman compared the creature to the maid's usual appearance, with her tight black bun, pasty face, and portly form, making herself chuckle lightly. She would not forget to ask her next time about the amber liquid.

"My apologies, I had hoped for a perfect moment with you to make up for the days of longing," the Keeper turned to his wife.

"Do not worry," she smiled at him in her gentle manner which he could not help but find adorable. "We are together now and that is what matters most to me. I just want to be close to you."

He smiled back, kissing Anna lightly on the forehead.


	12. Chapter 12

The Castle was bustling with activity as servants dashed two and fro carrying heavy trunks down the main hall. Anna watched with a sense of foreboding as they towed their precarious burdens upon bent shoulders, disappearing into the darkness of the many staircases which wound down to the abyss below. Yet in her heart bloomed a tingling of excitement, for the day had come at last when she would leave the ancient walls behind and set off on a journey she could conjure only in idle fantasy. The young woman could hardly sit still, offering her help to the servants if only to occupy her time and to do her part to quicken her departure towards the vast world which awaited her.

She could not help but wonder with what the many bags and cases were laden and hoped that she would soon be granted a peek. Following the train of servants, busy as a troop of ants, she made her way to the loading dock. It was a moldering construction made of crags, rocks, and moss over which one had to make sure to watch their footing or else risk a fall; however this did not seem to deter the staff who scurried across it with lithe steps, much to her surprise. At the end of the dock waited a most majestic vessel of dark wood, ornate to the point of ostentation and much in contrast to the somber exterior of the Castle. It was carved with a thousand faces, old and young, men and women, beautiful and grotesque. Some had even extended their abnormally long tongues and seemed to be lapping up the water or trying their luck at catching the lingering school of minnows. The young lady almost slipped into the water as she stretched to examine them.

A guttural murmuring from one of the servants, along with his pouting face, told her that she better stay back. In the meantime she satisfied herself with watching the procession, no longer questioning their curious ways; another woman may well have wondered at the oddity of tossing a seemingly endless stream of luggage straight into the water, at times she could even see the glistening of gold coins spilling out of one of the burlap sacs, descending like glittering fish to the murky depths below.

Amphelios joined her on edge of the rock upon which she sat waiting, carrying with him nothing more than a short bit of rope tied which had been tied to have four knots.

"The South, East, North, and West winds," he told her, having followed her gaze.

Anna smiled approvingly, delighted to see that such an item was to come aboard with them, keeping them safe upon the dark waters. Having no prior opportunity to learn to swim, or even enter into a body of water larger than the contents of a bathtub, she allowed herself to harbor a yet to be tested fear. Nonetheless, the excitement of the adventure to come was enough to subdue the worries which accosted her, entrusting herself to her beloved and the crew.

It was not much later that she discovered that the crew would consist of her alone.

Amphelios stepped into the boat and offered his hand to Anna, helping her aboard. A fur coat was spread over her seat to keep her comfortable, and warm should the wind pick up, and a bundle wrapped in cloth was placed on her lap, containing their food for the journey – an empty soup bowl and two spoons, said to refill when needed.

"Keep them safe," he told her with a loving smile, his mind distracted by her sweet gaze and youthful beauty.

They looked back at the Castle and the servants which stood on the dock, some somber and some teary-eyed to see their master and mistress leave.

When at last the vessel set off, with a push from the heavy blacksmith's boot and a hearty wave goodbye, the luggage rose to the surface of the water and trailed behind like a retinue of makeshift goblin boats.

The couple pressed closer together and wrapped up in the Keeper's coat for warmth. They proceeded to untie one of the knots on enchanted rope, with help from Anna's careful fingers. Just as suddenly as the strand had come undone, a great gust of wind swept the boat onward, the force of which was so great that the two travellers had to close their eyes firmly and cover their faces with their sleeves. When they opened them again they found themselves amid a great expanse of roaring waves with land nowhere in sight. For the first time since the announcement of the journey, the young woman was more frightened than eager.

Sensing the anxiety reflected in her expression, Amphelios pulled her into an affectionate embrace to reassure her that she was not alone and that she would be well taken care of. Although it was not the first time he had traveled in such a manner it would certainly be the first time that he would take on a journey of this great a distance, and with a most precious companion. He hoped that the resources which he had brought with him would be sufficient to ward of any dangers which may come their way and provide for an adequate amount of comfort from the elements. The man planned to take detours along the way to show Anna the landscape of the area as well as other places of beauty and history, although this would certainly extend the length of their journey he imagined that she would be happy to do so for the sake of the sights she would see.


	13. Chapter 13

The vessel was rocked by the waves which crashed against its sides, threatening to tip over the two figures which shivered within. While the turbulent seas showed no signs of relenting, Amphelios looked onwards and prayed silently to no known god for calmer weather than what had been offered to them thus far. For the first day's journey, Anna remained brave in her composure, trying her best to focus on the hopes of distant lands and marveling at the small curiosities which were brought onboard. Even with their fear of the open sea, the dinner hour did not pass by unnoticed. With the setting sun, the couple shared a pilgrim's meal of porridge from the earthenware bowl which they passed back and forth between one another. They made light of their forebodings with laughter at the little accidents of spilled porridge on this robe or that boot, feeling gladness that they would not want for food while they were so provided for by the humble bowl. The two travelers would then go on to share tales, both real and imagined, to pass the hours and divert their attentions from what seemed like a long journey.

At times, when Anna focused her eyes on the horizon, she believed that she could see the shoreline beckoning. And so it was, either by the workings of the Wind Knots or by nature of circumstance, land was not as long awaited for as the young woman had presumed. It was only the problem of keeping the boat upon its course and disembarking safely that vexed them after the sight of the nearing coastline. The waves and powerful winds hurtled them onwards, bringing a forest of pines into focus. Great howls were heard from the mouths which decorated the vessel, in expectation of crashing upon the jagged rocks which protruded below the tree-covered cliff up ahead, for such was the land which awaited them – a place which the young woman imagined had long missed the sight of man, upon which only wild beasts were known to tread.

This was only fancy however, as it was not long before a regal palanquin came into sight, borne upon the shoulders of four large hunchbacked moors - followed by a less then comely entourage of merchants, dancers, vagabonds and some of the lesser nobility - their curiosity was no doubt peaked by the sight of the newcomers struggling to get their cargo onshore by no natural means. They looked on with amusement and passed around flasks of wine to add to their merriment, as a cacophony of trumpets and lutes gave a background to the novel scene. Meanwhile, their Queen - in expectation of her guests - directed her attention to the looking glass which she produced from the ruffles of her bodice. Eyeing the paleness of her nose in one light and then another, she could not fail to smile as she thought of the gifts which would add further adornment to her already renowned charms. At last, she lifted one brocade curtain aside and peeked out in hopes of catching a glimpse of the arrivals. Although she knew little of the lady of the White Castle, her beauty was all the more enhanced by the mystery surrounding her, and as for the Keeper, she knew him well if not fondly. One of his rare visits would bring endless diversions and revive the slump in court gossip as of late, so she mused. Yet it would be just so regardless of who the visitor might be, for all guests were made much of. Whether they spoke in excess or not at all, it was no matter – to see and be seen were the occupations of the Queen and her people.

They would chatter gaily on a wide range of subjects, if not with intelligence then with a perfectly convincing semblance of it - much effort was made to stay informed on the topics of the day. Visitors from far off islands would oft be surprised that the Queen's ladies were well aware of the election of the local governors of their homeland or the state of the farmlands after a severe drought. As such, the first impression which they made on most strangers was often a most amiable one. There were few who did not enjoy the feeling that the matters and concerns of their small village were the concerns of the world.

All sorts of fashionable opinions were imported from far and wide to feed the Queen's desire for novelty. At times, great lulls in decorous entertainments were satiated by sending out a few of her trusted menservants on longboats in search of new citizens to join the small but hospitable island of plenty. Hers was a kingdom which had long been free from the plagues of ordinary human toil, neither wars nor industry disturbed the endless revelries of the inhabitants, all forms of employment were but diversions from tedium – always voluntary and half-hearted. Thus it was no great feat to convince a crew of world-weary merchants or a sun-withered fisherman to join in a night of festivities.

But one cannot help but ask himself how such a place had come to be, as it is certainly miraculous that people could live so idly, if not freely, without any effort. Such an economy was built upon the back of the Well of Desire, so Ampehilos whispered into his young bride's ear as they disembarked their vessel, regretting in part that he had not taken the time to give his account earlier, in fear of an audience.

The Well was situated in the city center and was surrounded by the most sumptuous of pleasure gardens, over which peacocks strutted around with as little care as the populace. However, the governance of such a mighty work of magic - for so it was - came with a set of rules so intricate and forbidding that one would think it would fall only to the most learned to decipher them.

Yet it is with wisdom that the Well's creator deemed it right and just for all to understand its power and limitations. From an early age, amid language and mathematics, the laws of the Well were also taught, so that one may ask any infant which desires were base and which were noble and he may answer you in the ways of his people.

The teachings were as follows.

Desire nothing that you would call yours.

Desire without greed or fear of want.

Desire no malice upon your fellow man nor upon the works of nature lest they threaten you bodily harm.

Desire only that which will strengthen and ennoble your mind, body, and spirit and not that which would cripple and sicken it.

Desire no more sustenance that what would satiate hunger, avoiding the sickness of gluttony.

Desire no more wine than what would quench your thirst, never so much as to let your will misguide you.

Desire not for power, wealth, and knowledge to feel yourself rising above your fellow man in worth. Shield your spirit from pride and arrogance.

Desire not to take from another their own free will, whether of man or of beast.

Abstain from the creation and destruction of the spirit - add neither to the numbers of the dead nor to that of the living.

The teachings mentioned thus far are but a fragment of the complete work, which often clarifies in excess what had been already been put down in one teaching or another. One will also observe that there are rules which work as caveats, exceptions if you will - to be applied in rare or extraneous circumstances. So prodigious they are in number that it baffles many foreigners that the populace keeps straight what they may or may not desire. It can further be believed that the author of the work had decided to err on the side of caution in putting down his intentions plainly, to align those who follow his teachings by the letter and not by their spirit; lest wily sophistry were to find ways to mislead the populace away from his noble goal.

That is not to say that all of the townsfolk of Rachori were honorable in practice and even in intent, as even the wisest system of governance has its loopholes – for that which the Well failed to provide, men would find means elsewhere. And so sprung the vineyards, brothels, dice, and other such wayward speak further upon the aims of the Well's creator, his solemn hope was to save his people from exerting themselves for the sustenance of the body and liberating them to pursue the study of philosophy, the arts, and the sciences, to make base rivalry for resources a needless thing – if one knows that all can be had as easily as it can be wished for, why need a man hoard for himself? Why ought he rob or cheat his neighbor? His dream was that none should know poverty, and that the schools of the elite would open their doors to the farmer's son, and none would be slave to another.

Yet unlike many dreamers of fine deeds, one can see that he was not so blind to the nature of the townsfolk as not to foresee some of the ways in which they would ultimately err, straying from the benevolence of the Well. For example, although one cannot ask the Well of Desire for anything that would blatantly impair the mind, such as hallucinogens, poisons, and alcohols, his tome of guidance has many chapters speaking on the matter and cautioning men on the effects of such wishes. Nevertheless, the extent of his success may be judged by observing his people, of whom there are as many fools and wisemen as there are born in neighboring towns.

The eloquence of Morris Rachori, for such was the venerable founder's name, was immortalized upon stone obelisks found in each and every town of the small island, and beneath each obelisk was a small basin filled with water from the well. Beautiful youths would be tasked to carry water from the Well of Desire to these basins, singing praises of virtue in a ritual choir, until they reached an age at which their voices no longer carried the tone of the bloom of innocence.

And how does one ask of the Well? A small request, such as that for a basket of fruit or a portion of butter can be made at the obelisks, simply by cupping ones hands and scooping out the water and then whispering the wish over its surface. Then, the water is allowed to trickle onto the Earth so that the object of one's desires may appear. As for greater wishes – either those with a form that is greater in volume and proportion or those which are weightier in nature (most oft related to the spirit or the mind, rather than to the service of the body), one must go to the source – the Well of Desire itself, situated at the center of the island. Although sacred, no guards or priests stand to bar access to it, as doing so woul

Now as we return to the commotion of the docked vessel, it would have been seen that the people surrounding the Queen were a rather hideous lot and this curious fact must be accounted for. Amid the multitude of warts, hooked noses, bristly brows, and pot bellies, only a dozen or so are genuine. The rest are clever waxwork and the like, inventions borrowed from the theater. Any why would these folk endeavors towards repulsiveness one might ask? For the simple reasons of pleasing their Queen, who although not always admired as a paragon of wisdom, was much beloved throughout her reign. Her coquettish lighthearted nature offended few and pleased many. Moreover, as the Queen held little political sway, the political rivalries were allowed to recede into other quarters – letting her divert more of her energies to the matters which chiefly occupying her mind, the purist of beauty and the fashionable pastimes of her court. Her greatest fault may be said to be vanity, a fear of being suppressed by any lady or gentleman in beauty and in grace. In defense of the Queen, it must be said that she added much to the civilization of the island by her patronage of art, literature, music, theater, and architecture. She leaned largely towards romanticist and baroque themes which suited her nature but at times offered her praises to the nobility of more somber and austere ages, although with less heart.


	14. Chapter 14

The Queen's servants escorted the couple into her carriage, helping the lady mount although she needed not their aid. Anna's eyes yearned to look more closely at each of the personages around her but she could sense that their gazes were just as keen and scrutinizing. She found them most unnerving and resigned to keep her eyes upon the floor of the carriage and at times on her husband's hands. It was only by furtive glances that she discerned the Queen's wily smile and the details of her mask, for such perfect skin could not be had from nature. Indeed, she was like a porcelain doll, her complexion and white as snow, her lips like rubies, her eyes a cat's green. Heavy locks of ginger hair fell down to her hips while the rest was piled upon her head like a hive studded in precious gems. Her appearance struck Anna as being over-worked; there was too much art in it to let any natural beauty shine through, it daunted one to see so little of a person. Anna tried to guess at the Queen's years and at her disposition, wondering at what the lady wished to convey by her immaculateness. Was she a friend of the people or one who kept aloof? Was she stern? Was she jovial?

"You never visit," the Queen pouted like a petulant child, although not in earnest but in playfulness to put her guests at ease. She then broke out in a dove-like laugh.

"There is much to attend to in –" the Keeper began to speak, visibly uncomfortable and giving the air of serious man who had no time to trifle with. In truth, she amused him in her own way, although so much would never be said, the two were fond of one another despite their differences.

"I will not hear it, none of it. You are here now and that is your best defense," the grand dame cut him off, opening her feathered fan sharply and grinning behind it. "Now who is your lady?" her head turned upon Anna. "She is comely enough but can she speak?"

"She is not used to chirping and chattering but is a clever girl and will prove herself," he replied, wondering if there was a way to steer the woman away from Anna.

The Queen laughed. "Does she have a name? Is she yours?"

"Her name is Anna and she is of my spirit," he answered her.

"Oh how romantic and lovely!" she smiled with her heart. "Every man must be loved be someone, even if he must love himself – a most difficult thing to do for some. Most persons of means are quite intolerable; almost all of them are arrogant and vain! But why not embrace that?" she held up her silver mirror proudly. "I grow older by the day, with each day I must remain a work of art – no, I must become more so!"

"As you please," he smiled forcefully.

"Oh now, I will not have it," she pouted again. "Never hold back your feels, never!"

"You are self-obsessed and overbearing" he played along.

"You are arrogant and boring," she said with a smile.

"You –" she turned to Anna. "You are too pretty, I am jealous!"

Anna blushed but felt quite uncomfortable, as though the compliment was a premonition of ill-will against her. Amphelios felt a sensation that something untoward would soon take place.

"Ah you're scared aren't you?" she said with amusement. "Here, here's my worst" the Queen slapped Anna across the face on an impulse. "Now fear me not."

Amphelios was taken-aback and unsure at what he had just seen. He felt obliged to intervene but at the same time knew the futility of it, the Queen's ways were beyond being altered and to start a row with her would serve no purpose but to have himself and his wife exiled. He could not afford the risk of leaving without fulfilling his errant over something so trite. His sense of honor was divided. He cast Anna an apologetic look and then followed suit.

"That is my worst, also," he slapped the Queen across the face.

At once there was silence and she looked aghast, her pale hand rose to her cheek as though to nurse a bruise. Then just as suddenly she burst into laughter.

"I was beginning to doubt whether you were a gentlemen!" she said to him blithely. "Now then, do you know how I might stop feeling jealous?" the Queen went on, "By taking the little lady under my wing. I know you must have had many who wish to do the same for her but I will insist upon the privilege and as her husband, you will say nothing. I will be but for a day or two and it will be good for her to spend more time in court, make her less reticent. Would you not wish to see your young wife dressed and made-up lavishly? To make her debut? All of the gentlemen will swoon to see her!" she beamed.

"No, of course not," Amphelios answered. "But you shall do it anyways."

"Quite right, quite right indeed!" she fluttered her fan again. "As you are on my land, you will not displease me. My guillotines are strewn with the heads of obstinate men."

Amphelios searched for his words but was less practiced in sharp and tactful replies, having spent so many years in self-imposed isolation. No one in the carriage knew whether she was in earnest or in jest.

In little time, the royal train arrived at its destination, a grand castle of gray stone with roofs of bronze which had oxidized into comely shades of green. The couple could see that renovations were being undertaken for one of the wings, a new ballroom, so the Queen explained. Trumpets were sounded to announce their arrival and a flock of doves were released as they passed down the emerald-colored carpet which had been rolled out for them. There was an air of excitement about as the populace cheered and waved at them, it seemed that they were truly merry and pleased to see them. It gladdened Anna to see that the masters of this land were much-beloved and that the people were happy; although she had not seen other civilizations she had read much on the wars and turmoil which often plagued them, the various tyrants who oppressed them, and the myriad of obstacles which stood between the peace of such a paradise as she beheld.


	15. Chapter 15

The inside of the palace was like a projection of the Queen's psyche, ornate and extravagant, boasting great beauty and craft. In a sense, it was just as Anna expected it to be, her heart was ready for a thousand wonders. She thought upon the startling slap in the carriage - although it had shocked her greatly, she held no grudge towards the Queen but instead regarded her ways as those of a child, for whom one would gladly come up with a thousand excuses. It was as though the dame could not have done otherwise when an impulse struck her, all whims must be dutifully obeyed. The Queen's spirit flew from one flower to the next, her interests yearning to be diverted and enthralled. Yet to behold the work of a thousand master craftsmen brought out the sense of awe in Anna nonetheless, she could only imagine how many years it must have taken to carve each of the cherubs, birds, and vines which decorated the many pillars supporting the vaulted ceiling. And when she breathed in the air it smelled of lilies, freshly cut. A part of her pitied the beauty which was wilting for the sake of such a perfect moment, but how long would these flowers bloom in the wilderness? Who there would relish their scent?

It was as though the Queen had read her thoughts, conveyed to her in the watery sadness of her blue eyes.

"A woman would die a thousand times to be adored but for a day," the Queen smiled at her quizzically, the meaning of her words was not clear to the girl but she knew that they were meant to be dwelt upon.

"If you were to ask me if she is profound or merely pithy, I could not tell you," a man approached them in the train approaching the throne room. He wore a black tunic with a long fur coat over it, his lips were full and his bald head was topped with a golden-threaded cap. There was a regal air about this portly man and a boldness in manner which showed that he was familiar with the court and the Queen.

"Duke Harnolf, say nothing! You only say horrible things," the Queen passed between Anna and the man, as though to separate them at once.

"Familiarity breeds contempt does it?" he retorted with a lick of his lips.

"Yes, that is why you ought never to stay away too long," said the Queen, "Lest I forget your true nature and think too much of you."

"Profound, she is profound!" the portly Duke laughed a booming laugh. Anna could imagine him as the Queen's husband, holding a leg of fowl at a dinner, laughing loudly at the head of the table. There would be ales flowing liberally in large mugs and some men would be singing, with at least one playing wildly on a lute. Perhaps there would be a dog or two about the table looking for a scrap and a lean and hungry juggler, much ignored. However, this scene quickly vanished as the man himself slipped away into the crowd. Anna caught sight of him again whispering to two other men and then leaving the hall altogether. He then struck her to be as a less jovial character, a plotter and a schemer, perhaps a murderer - so well he fit into the world of her novels, from which such castles sprung. It was a wonder for her to recall how little of the world she had seen not long ago and how dim her prospects of seeing it had been.

At last the Queen reached her silver throne and took hold of a scepter with a lotus flower wrought at its end. As she struck the ground with the scepter, the silver lotus flower opened, revealing a glistening emerald. It reflected the light beautifully and sent murmurs of delight through the crowd, not only by its own beauty but by the choir which it called to sing. A thousand clear voices began their song in a foreign tongue, Anna wondered if it was the Queen who they showered with godly praises or another ideal. She wished to ask this of her husband, wondering if he might know, but thought to stay silent lets she be chastised for rudeness. Even to behold the singers was enough to muse at, for although their raiment was pure white and silver threaded, their locks a lustrous gold – the faces of the maidens themselves were grotesque to behold. Each girl, about twenty in years, had a long pointed nose, an exaggerated chin, and goblin's ears.

After the singing ebbed away, the strange maidens formed a line and left the hall through a curtained passageway. Anna watched them leave and wondered at what it would be like to be one of their number and learn the songs of the land, for there was much beauty in their voices and the melodies which they sang.

"How lovely," Anna whispered to her husband.

"Yes, they were sought after across several kingdoms and their voices preserved by a serum said to come from the Gods," he answered her.

"Which Gods do these people hold dear? Where they the very same to which the chorus sang to?"

"The Gods adorn the Queen and it is the Queen who is praised," he said so in a tone much as though he was telling her a secret.

"There are no Gods then? Are they only make-believe?"

"I cannot say," he was much troubled lest someone should hear her questions yet neither did he wish to suppress them, so curious he was about what an outsider would make of the new land.

"Not now or not ever?"

"Not now certainly, perhaps not ever."

"Are you afraid of her? Are the people afraid?"

"At times – but we always forgive," he did not look at her when he spoke, his gaze was on the Queen and hers was on him.

"Silence! Her Majesty rises to speak!" a servant bellowed, both with his voice and with a brass horn. The murmurs slowly died down and the crowd looked expectantly ahead at the throne. The Queen gathered her skirts and stood, clearing her throat with self-conscious coughs.

"Thank you! Thank you all for your warm reception. It is a pleasure for me to open my palace doors to you and bestow upon you the gifts of the musses. Tonight there shall be song, dance, and banquets for all! Tonight we shall rejoice in the moonlight."

At the command, silk ribbons parted to reveal countless crystals dangling from the dark ceiling. They moved and sounded like wind chimes as they moved to and fro.

"Behold the stars, for why should the Queen and her people wait for nightfall to delight in moonlight's beauty. And here, approaches the Moon!" at once, the Queen stepped down from the throne pedestal and took hold of Anna by the waist, leading her to the center of the round hall. More murmurs echoed, especially amid the servants – for it was the Queen's dress which was meant to transform its colors to those of shimmering moonlight, with pale silks and glistening diamonds.

"Let us cheer for the arrival of the Moon!" the Queen began to clap and the crowed did not wait long to follow her example. "Tonight let us delight in her youthful beauty and dance the Dance of the Stars!"

An unseen orchestra began to play behind a curtain and the court rushed to change its clothing appropriately. Boots and stockings were struggled with, many a couple taking turns holding a scarf around one another as a make-shift dressing room. Anna's struggle, however, was not to laugh at the amusing scene - the transformation which was asked of from the people was not as seamless as might be hoped. One still had to use their imagination to feel the desired effect.

At last, most of the crowd had changed into various pastel shades of starlight, shimmering around Anna like the wave the Queen had hoped for.


	16. Chapter 16

The orchestra changed its music and the courtesans began to dance a waltz, Anna was at the centre of the movement, and they, like a whirlpool of diamonds, adorning and honoring her. The melody would rise and fall and all stepped in unison with the coordination of a well trained battalion. The lady marveled at their synchrony but was at the same time unnerved by it. She could not well explain this feeling, she only knew that she did no relish the attention was bestowed on her by these strange figures; their faces appeared neither hostile nor welcoming, but like blank slates that do the bidding of a great Queen – a Queen watching from a distance and smiling her sphinx's smile. Anna did not know where to turn her gaze after she found how nauseous the circling of the crowd made her, she felt as though she were suffocating but knew that it was only by her own anxiety that it was so, and not by any sorcery. When she looked down she saw that her dress was one of unspeakable beauty, the lady did not recall ever putting it on yet was no entirely certain that she had not, so blurry the past appeared to him, like the water pooled in a well which had grown murky. She realized, too, that her throat ached and felt dry, a great thirst came over her and she yearned to drink of the wine carried upon silver platters by the servants standing beyond the crowd. They seemed so far away and she had not the voice to call to them, nor the nerve. Her eyes searched the many masks and faces but could not find one who was familiar to gaze upon. Amid the beauty and deformity her husband nowhere in sight, she searched and searched with increasing desperation, the music ebbing and flowing all the while, mingled with the sound of heels against the exquisite marble. It echoed like a military march, no longer had it any melody, but was a dominant stomping of feet. The air grew hot and humid and she could feel the sweat trickling down the side of her forehead, how rude it would be to wipe it off with silk-woven sleeves. Even the Queen was not to be found.

The dancing, if so it had been, had stopped and the men and woman stood around her in solemn silence; their clothing appeared somber likewise - the silvers of moonlight having turned to grays. They gazed with empty eyes, those shallow pools without malice nor adoration, nor life, so it struck her. Anna felt one with them, taking part in the numbness of the crowd. The previous merriment on their faces and their boisterous revelries took on a dreamlike quality, so that one could not say whether she had seen these things or only imagined them. But it was no matter, there was only the present moment, a moment in which she could feel her hands tingling – it started from the tips of her fingers, and also of her feet, gradually spreading over the rest of her body as it turned to starlight – beautiful starlight growing brighter and brighter. She then saw the Queens eyes on her from the corner of the room, her gown replaced by the rags of a woman she had long forgotten, a scorned woman much filled with anger and desperation. She too was becoming starlight.

The comrades looked up at the two women, one approaching the other, joining her at the center of the ballroom. Their wax-work noses and lopsided ears melted and revealed a myriad of faces, although none were strikingly beautiful, neither where they hideous. The music began to play again and again they took up their dance.

The Queen took Anna's hand in hers and they too danced to playing of the orchestra, their hands were but starlight, their feet no longer touched the marble were lifted off the ground like an air balloon, which had no choice but to submit to winds which carried it. Faintly, in a distant chamber of the castle, she could hear the singing of a bard. He sang for himself and for Anna, it was the Namer, of his voice she was sure, and that his man-made wife was near, of such she was sure also.

She wanted to call out to him but she could not remember his name or if she had ever known it, but the Queen turned her round and round in the air. The young woman heard her laughter and it sounded terrible to her, it was the laughter of everyone who ever mocked her and she did not know why she was rising with such a woman, why they two had become starlight. She longed to touch the earth with her feet again but it grew more and more distant. Already the roof of the castle grew small and so did the treetops, specs in a bristling mass of green. Anna saw birds flying past them, ordinary sparrows, but to her they were beautiful and comforting – yet they paid her no heed and took fright of the foreign objects which were unknown to grace the air so near, for it was rare for a star to fall to the earth and rarer still for it to rise from the earth. They rose faster and faster and the Queen's features disappeared, she was neither a man nor a woman but like a curtain of fabric which could be shaped by the wind, Anna's hands let it slip away and fall back to the earth. She wished to follow it but her will could not stop he body from its ascent, her body no longer seemed like her own, it no longer seemed there at all. Still she searched for her husband but could not find him.

He had left the castle before the dance had commenced. The man did not know how to dance and such merrymaking only reminded him of his loneliness. The Queen too, frightened him, and he her, although they knew each other's worst. Amphelios made his way through the forest, sometimes walking, sometimes running, as his mind brewed frightful things in the dark of the night. The branches became grasping hands, grasping to catch him by the hair and pull him back into the swallowing swampland. He did not trust his feet to tread carefully and so he had his eyes glance to and fro, from the branches to the tripping roots; he did not know how much further it would be before he reached what he sought, nor who and what more would impede him. The man was ashamed of his fearfulness but considered that it was useful to men to fear, lest they grow too bold and reckless with their feeble bodies, which the elements could so easily crush poison from within by all matter of maladies. He knew of a doctor, and the doctor's face appeared to him in his imaginings, one who knew all of the sicknesses which cavorted about men. His name was and he had great archives of terrible things which he knew by memory and feared to forget. At times Amphelios would invite him for tea and they would talk of the ways of the world, the doctor would meanwhile smoke a fine cigar. He knew well of its evils yet it was his one guilty pleasure, his inner rebellion against his fears. The doctor told himself that he would more readily die by the fumes of it than by another enemy, it was his strength and his freedom, his mocking laugh. Amphelios did not know why the man's face appeared to him when it did, perhaps it was because he thought of fear.

His wife of starlight searched for him longingly, or so he imagined that she did, and her starlight was blue, for so he knew she would have it be.

When at last she found him, in the thick of the woods, the lady was surprised to see him there and thought that no goodly cause took him there, she thought of him and the Queen in alliance – she wondered if he had taken her there with the very purpose of raising her to the sky far above the earth and out of reach by the birds. But these were venomous thoughts and Anna scolded herself for having them, surely it was too soon to tell what had truly taken place and what shall be. She would wait and watch and only afterwards pass judgment. To rise far above the earth had its pleasures likewise to distract her, the young woman could see the lights of Mount Olympus flickering. She saw proud Jove and jealous Hera, the cold and wise Athena and the furious Mars, and even Eros, with whom she delighted most. They all were clad in white robes and drank ambrosia from golden vessels. They laughed and listened to the playing of satires upon their reeds and wooden lutes, yet the scene reminded her too much of the Queen's dance and so she looked away – she saw Vulcan, standing by a temple column and the disdain in his heart. He too had his pride and it ached, to have been reduced to the role of a servant, although a much-revered and accomplished one, the ache blazed up at times and gave his toiling mind no leisure. It was in his mind's eye that he saw the other gods jeering, he remembered the betrayal and abandonment of Aphrodite, so seared was it upon his memory that there were few days when he did not look upon it, her face superimposed upon all other faces. Although he knew of his hideousness, he would carry a mirror with him and gaze on it oft and spit in his own eye's reflection. He reminded Anna too much of her husband, and from him too she turned away. Past Mount Olympus Anna's starlight eyes tread, to a grotto of nymphs playing in the crystal lake. How beautiful the scene was! Her heart leaped and sighed, so glad it was to rejoice with the fair bodies, innocent of the ways of man. They were as children, only appearing full-grown, they frolicked around the waters, their bare feet upon the soft grass, gathering herbs and flowers which they later wrought into beautiful wreathes. They gave these wreathes to one another and also spread them over the branches of the trees like festive garlands. The natural scent of them perfumed the air and the trickling of the nearby stream was the only music which they needed, that and the song of the birds of spring, who where the most blessed beings to dwell in Anna's heart. They were freedom and they were the soul in its purest form, they could do no wrong and think no evil thought. They were truly of the world of the nymphs. On this grotto the sun never ceased to shine, for this grotto the universe would break its laws and allow for a paradise to eternally revolve, never changing, never waning in beauty. Upon such beauty Anna gazed and rejoiced. It was there where her heart found peace.

Meanwhile, earthly figures still trekked through the forest neighboring the Queen's castle. One who searched would perceive two men this time, each approaching a well from opposite paths. This well was situated in a clearing and so the moonlight spread its rays over the grass and the stones, reflecting its face in the still waters. It too, revealed the faces of the men to each other, and no strangers they were, but knew one another for many a year gone by. One was the Keeper and the other, the Founder of the Wells, whose earthly name was taken from him once he was bestowed the honor of his great deeds, for long do the obelisks stand about the island and many a man drinks from their clear waters. As for the Keeper, his title he gave to himself, to obscure his own name and its earthly associations which he feared would weaken him. Of his own name, he even feared to think, and it was with great anxiety that he would allow his wife to speak it, the wife who was far away. He did not know if she gazed upon him in that moment but imagined that she did, that her eyes always watched and knew, even before she was of starlight. And although she was now only starlight, to him and the Queen she was always the Moon, they knew well of her beauty and thought of it oft in the nighttime, when men's thoughts grow less orderly and wander to different worlds. At night emotions grow more and the future and past takes on new meanings, each action takes on greater weight, ones fears and hopes grow also, new stories are woven, some of good and some of evil. In the morning the farmer who had looked upon the withered field thinks of tomorrow and prays for rain, he is vexed and wrings his hands, he sits on the fence and counts his debts, he the recounts them and says nothing to his wife – they have enough, just enough. At night, before sleep closes his lids and makes his troubles indecipherable but to one well learned in dreams, his thoughts take on a different shape. All grows otherworldly in the nighttime and one's aloneness is more deeply felt. Love and Fate, they two are of the night. He sees the bareness of the fields as his own bareness, his failure in the eyes of God, who is just and without mercy. He knows the doom of his consoling thoughts and the righteous punishment that is his hunger, for his neglect of his wife, for his drunkenness, for his absence at his father's side. He is of the unworthy and the workings of fate are upon him. Yet when the morning's rays shine through the grime of his window, he recalls his fears but dimly, like an epileptic fit which had passed and will return, but not now, not too soon. In the morning he takes up the plow and is at the good work again and he hears the laughter of his children and feels like a goodly man. When he sits at his lunch and breaks loaves he pours a drink too, for times are hard. Such are the workings of the Moon.

The two men knelt by the well of the woods. Their heads were bowed and their hands reached out to touch the cold stones between us. They then stood, the elder first, and washed their hands and their faces with the icy water which bore the reflection of the moon. They stared at one another with watery eyes, focusing on the wrinkles on each other's faces, dirty and pale. From the sleeve of his robe, the old man tore fabric and soaked it in the well, and with the dripping rag he washed the face of his brother, for it dry blood scratches of the branches and the mud were still upon his skin. They both felt a coldness and neither spoke. For a long while it was so, until the Keeper burst into womanly tears and bent his back to hide his face, falling onto his knees again. His hands wrapped tightly around the other's sandals and calloused feet. He kissed them between his sobbing while the other man kept his silence, his gaze, too, said nothing for such was the way of the land. The Founder felt shame for his brother, who appeared to him weak and pitiful, much did he err in his ways to reduce himself so, but to beg was what he ought do. Although the Keeper knew of no god in which to place his faith upon, he was of the opinion that each must have one who is so endowed: with the power to absolve one's sins and praise one's virtues when they are worthy. This figure's powers need not be granted consciously, perhaps it is even best to bury the bestowal deeply in the subconscious, lest one grows to doubt their omnipotence and righteousness. It would cause much turmoil to ask oneself, who is this man to know when and how to punish me justly, or with mercy, as his disposition holds him to do?

For such a person as the Keeper, if he has no book of godly rules, nor a society to teach him, nor other moral to make comparison, it is a difficult matter - to measure how far along the path one is, whether he goes backwards or forwards, or fails to move at all. It takes a strong man to absolve himself. At times his heart or his mind may choose, without giving conscious notice, that it is best to delegate this role to another more worthy, calmer in disposition, bearing wisdom both in outward appearance and within.

This was what the Keeper had thought as he knelt low, for truth must be told that no man can read another's thoughts before he speaks them or gives sign, yet truth it is also that his belief was liken to reality, as it is for any man who acts upon what he knows only by faith. He would not allow god to judge him too softly, for he thought that he deserved it not. Amphelios looked away from the Founder's gray eyes and looked up at the sky, thinking of the blue eyes of his starlight wife, she was so far away and so cold – and just as suddenly he cut the thought off abruptly, scolding himself for scolding her for what she did not know of or could not help. It had become like a noxious habit. He turned his gaze back to the Founder, whose eyes did not waver, whose thoughts were fixed upon his own self and his brother in the moonlit clearing. He lifted him up the arm, as one does for an aged and feeble man who has refused his cane, although his friend was the younger. They walked back into the forest, it swallowed them up gladly and no longer pestered either with its branches and brambles, when they walked it felt as though the path had been cleared for them.

They reached a cave, it had a man-made staircase leading downward beneath the earth and a noose hanging from a nearby tree. The Keeper's distracted eyes flickered to the noose and he felt his innards churn, and he felt great shame for their churning, how dare he doubt his companion? If he could not trust in the white-bearded Founder, who else upon the wide earth could he look upon without scrutiny? The other sensed his fear and placed his hand upon his back as though to reassure him, with the effect of making Amphelios feel a faintness sweep over him. He tried to focus only upon his feet, which grew harder and harder to see in the darkness of the cave as they descended down the wooden steps. It was damp and hot within, much like in the ballroom before his wife had turned into starlight, and to his surprise there was no foul smell, although many bat droppings were seen on the stone floor. Stalactites and stalagmites jutted from the cavern walls and an echoing screech resounded. Yet the darkness was calming, to not see and not be seen, there was only the withered hand upon his arm, he thought of its wrinkles and yellowed fingernails and the mud caked underneath them, he thought it was the hand of death leading him downward to the River Styx, he thought, too, of the noose which hung from the dead tree by the entrance. It was these thought which frightened him and not the cave itself, nor his companion, who was both wise and kind.

Suddenly, a flame illuminated the cave, that of a wax candle held in the aged man's hand. Before the two of them stood a statue erected in gold, it was of a round faced man with hanging earlobes and elongated eyes. He had slender figures and a broad torso; he smiled mischievously at them as he had smiled for millions of years.

"Who is the golden man beneath the earth?" Amphelios spoke, "Why do you reveal him to me?"

"He is the god of a civilization of old, he had once been a man until he left behind his gold in pursuit of peace and wisdom," the other replied. "He preached to his people of Four Noble Truths."

"What are these truths?"

"We crave and cling to impermanent states and things. We are incapable of satisfying them, and so they cause us pain. This keeps us caught in the endless cycle of repeated rebirth and dying. True happiness lies in following the Eightfold Path."

"What is the Eightfold Path?"

"Another set of godly rules, telling one to think, speak, and act rightly."

"And what means he by rightly or wrongly?"

"To be a good man, as with almost all religions."

"It is inhuman, to desire nothing at all," the Keeper protested dismissively and without thought. "A life is empty, that of a vegetable - to cease to strive and desire."

"You would accept the pain of your desires then?"

"I would embrace it," he replied.

"You do not speak as yourself but as your ego," his friend chastised him lightly. "You put on airs and play roles, I do not know if it is for your own protection or for mine, but it blinds you."

"It is difficult for me to change the impulse,"

"I understand," he answered. "You need not hide from me."

"It is my nature to question and doubt, but I am ashamed to doubt you."

"Control yourself, learn to do so better. Practice."

"I will strive to."

"To banish desires and impulses, that too involves much striving and struggle – men devote their entire lives to the aim of wanting nothing."

"Is it much as the material man hoards gold in the hopes that he should want for nothing when he grows weak in his old age?" spoke the Keeper.

"Yes, for some it is so, my faithless one."

"My faith is only in you and your wisdom."

"I too may well lead you astray, to let you down, to betray you."

"But you would lead yourself astray also, and let yourself down, and betray yourself – you would be in great anguish, greater than mine. For that reason I would forgive you, in my mind and in my heart also, which is the more difficult," the Keeper spoke, not wishing for the other to step down from the pedestal upon which he rested.

"You are right in what you say, that I would not wrong you willingly, my friend, but in foolishness, much ruing my failings," he sat down upon a rock and set the candle down beside him.

"I would forgive a fool readily, but you are a wise man, and although some think humility is a virtue, for one such as you it is better to not speak so despairingly when you err so little in comparison to the multitude men."

"I am afraid of the pedestal on which you place me, I feel unworthy and almost certain that I shall fail you and that you shall hate me," the Founder confided in him.

Amphelios thought over his words carefully, troubled that there was some truth in them, and the truth made him fearful also.

"What must I do if it is so?" the Keeper asked of him.

"To see me as I am and not as you desire me to be, and if that cannot be done – to desire nothing of me. If I do as you hope that I would, count it a blessing of fortune, and if I fail you – do not count it at all, dismiss it. Want nothing of me, ask nothing of me, hope for nothing of me. But it pains me to say these things – I feel our aloneness at once when I welcome such wise thoughts into my heart. To be so unselfish in one's love and friendship, it is unnatural even to me. I hide my desires but I do not banish them. I have had no need to, I have shunned mankind. In forests and mountains I hide myself and avoid the gaze of man as you do behind the walls of the White Castle."

"We are alike in our faults; that is at the root of our friendship. If you were much beloved by the people I would grow jealous and spiteful towards you. I would think you happy in the ordinary sense, I would think you a man of the world, a man of the people - of whom I am not a part."

"It is your own doing," the Founder spoke to him. "It is you who shuns them and the reverse."

"Ah but can you imagine me among them? Taking pleasure in drink and lustfulness? In chattering and in materialism?"

"You are not so different from them as you believe yourself to be, look more deeply and you will know this to be true," his friend answered his retort. "You too take a pleasure in good food, as any man does, and it could well be so in fine drink. You too lust after the bodies of others, though you grow shame faced about it, and of this we need speak of. And would one not liken the song of birds unto chattering? Although you turn not from listening to them. The song of the bird is to say, "I am here, come to me, I am here, not one and alone are you in these woods". And that is a beautiful thing, to make a sound and to hear a sound returned by one of your own race. You and her are alive, so sing and speak freely, for its own sake, speak much and say nothing, for too much brooding and calculating are not of the nature of a peaceful man. And in defense of materialism, I would not call you an ascetic man – you too take pleasure in the beauty of objects and accumulate them for your enjoyment. Your home is grand and opulent are many of the rooms in which you reside. Whether the objects are in poor taste or of a refined sensibility, you hoard them as the miser does, and would, too, fear for your livelihood had you not the refuge of sorcery – as I have the Well of Desire. Why shame a man for his natural instinct, which was cast upon him at birth? Why shun him?"

"I am no better than the masses you say in truth," said Amphelios, his arrogant spirit sinking low, for he believed each word the other spoke and allowed it to penetrate deeply into his heart.

"You are no worse, and so among the humans you may well find companionship," the other assured. "It may well be that your faults will endear you, for few enjoy the company of one so immaculate as to play a foil to their faults."

"Is that truly what you believe or do you speak only to make me question?" Amphelios doubted. "Is it not truth also that one ought not seek the company of friends who share his faults and thus make them grow the larger. Instead he should seek his betters and learn by their example."

"But to shun all men and fester in one's own solitude, I am uncertain if you will find peace in that way."

"There would always be one other to join me, my wife being the last of such others," said the Keeper.

"Was she not you, a fragment of your mind projected onto a body? You saw and loved and hated but yourself and no other," the old man correct him, but without harshness in his voice.

"I hated and loved her ways too, the ways of the bird," said Amphelios. "Her love of nature and the beauty of her voice, how soft she was to the touch. But her flightiness vexed me, she would stray and come back, stray from me and come back – but in my heart I always feared that one day she would not return to me, and each time she would leave, I would remember it keenly and throw the memories upon the fire of my wrath. I would scold her and she would shed tears, she felt troubled that I did not love her and could not accept her nature. She said it were my fears that lit the flames."

"Is it so?"

Amphelios paused to think, he recalled reflecting upon the question many a time before, but each time he had to think about it anew for the answer did not come to him straightaway.

"My fears –" he spoke, but for himself. "I have a great many, certainly."

"Know them well," his friend told him.

"I do not want anything that is not eternal, forever mine – I renounce the golden man, he smiles like a fool!" the Keeper grew shame faced once more at his own words, for he did not believe them even as he spoke them. They were the words of a feeble petulant man. Yet a part of him wanted to protest against a great many unfair things and wanted someone to hear him, to listen with compassion.

"What are the things which are or can be thus?"

"I- I do not know," he fell on his knees again and leaned his head on the other's lap. The old man touched his head gently, not knowing if it was for the best if he should offer comfort. There was something forbidden in it.

"Is love among those things?" the Founder spoke at last.

"I believe the answer you wish for me to give is that it is not," Amphelios stood suddenly, as though struck by something painful, and his heart recoiled back – away from the place of vulnerability.


	17. Chapter 17

"Do not be grieved by your own thoughts, and those you feign to read in me," the elder man replied. "You are wearied from your emotions which rise up like the sea amidst a storm. But you fear rightly in this matter, that I eye with suspicion that which is believed to be unchanging – for that goes against the nature of our world as I have understood it."

His eyes focused upon the small flickering light of the candle, wondering how much time had passed in the confines of the cave.

"How can one live in such a flowing world?" asked Amphelios, eager for his words.

"It is difficult, I confess, to have no cliff to hold onto," spoke the Founder, regretting his bold words. "When all is morphing and slipping away – I am as you see me, my emotions have long been turbulent as well and I do not see clearly, nor can I grasp even my own thoughts as well as I would like, and weigh them as a stoic man ought. The past obscures me and that is inescapable. We can never know how much of the past seeps into our every interpretation. It teaches us to avoid fires but also keeps us from enjoying their warmth - lest we burn our thinned skins once more."

"You weigh them rather too frequently, these thoughts of yours," answered Amphelios. "You measure sand while it still flows in and out of your glass. I can see how that may be maddening. And as for myself, perhaps I ought to speak more plainly lest we grow too fond of painting beautiful images which only serve to distract us, playing as though we were philosophers."

"That is so, neither one of us has found peace in his heart," the old man nodded gravely, his shoulders bent as one weary of the world.

The Keeper was displeased with the other's words, for he had anticipated that his friend would protest and place a balm upon their troubles. He did not wish to see him in a weakened sate.

"Perhaps today we shall find it, in the solitude of the cave—now that we are poignantly aware of our ignorance and have accepted it," he gave vague words of encouragement, feeling unlike himself. "We might find peace within our hearts."

"I do not believe that we have accepted it," the other corrected him. "We are both too proud to feel as children do."

"Still, let us try as we might," he was embarrassed to appear insincere in his words of comfort. "And we hardly have a choice in the matter, as we are by our natures so prone to brooding and weighing. Perhaps we shall have the right measurement at last for the medicine which we seek."

"Perhaps, friend, perhaps," the Founder nodded again, his eyes distracted. Amphelios did not fail to notice this and felt disheartened that his friend grew weary of their talk, for he felt everything so keenly.

"Have I disgraced myself and lost your respect?" the Keeper spoke what was in his heart.

"You have not, but my spirits have been gradually sinking over the many years during which I searched to quell my inner fires. When we saw one another at our meeting place, as we had planned to do in times of old, I could see at once that you had not found it, that we had only grown old but our spirits have changed little, plagued by the same troubles. Will we both expire before we have found our gold?"

"You have no hope left then, is that what you express to me?" he was not familiar to see the other downcast and wondered where their conversation would lead. It made him fearful to see his master give up the cause, if such he truly intended to do.

"He who says that he is hopeless lies to you, lest he is already of the dead," he perceived the fears in the other's heart, projecting himself onto his friend, and knew that he must speak words of comfort also, for both their sakes. "So long as a man breathes, he breathes in hope," the Founder rose from cold stone and wandered closer to the golden figure, examining his smile as though for the first time.

"Why do you look at him so? He will tell you nothing," Amphelios walked to his side and followed his gaze.

"You look at me in the same manner and I too speak dubious things in a wise man's voice. Do you see my long beard and my coat of rags? They are a sage's uniform, to beguile those who yearn to follow and are in need of one who will tell them what they must do. This age has grown so faithless for it lacks a god; instead they place their faith in all manner of other delusions – but those are dark comfortless words, I ought not to have spoken them. I too have anger within me, though I hide it better than thou by my years."

"Why do you wish for me to let you go, when I have little else left but your friendship?" Amphelios allowed sentimentality to interrupt them.

"It is not friendship which you seek from me but an absoluteness. You want me to look into your eyes and tell you that you think rightly, act rightly, and speak rightly – or wrongly, as the case may be. We spoke of this before yet you fail to hear."

The Keeper bowed his head. "You have never let me down, you can do no wrong in my eyes. I will not allow you to renounce your power over me," he spoke untruths madly, for it pleased him to say poignant things which he desired to be true, for their own sake and for little else. At times such habits had brought misfortune upon him but it mattered not.

"Of course not," the Founder closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them again, he put out the candle.

Amphelios was surprised to see the cave fill with thick darkness, nothing at all could be discerned of his surroundings – all that he saw was the memory of them.

"I desire to obey you blindly - for in all other women and men, I suspect much and fear much, they forever hold the dagger behind me. I can never let down my guard and thus scheme schemes in anticipation of theirs. I do not like to look on the man who I have become," he told the other without reserve, "I am your eternal servant and you shall have no other slaves."

"What say you if I refuse, if it is loathsome to me when you bow before me?"

"Is it so?"

"I wish not to answer," he turned away and walked deeper into the darkness.

"That is an answer in itself," the other delighted irreverently.

"Yes, it fans at my pride to see you so dependant, renouncing your will – your goodness and your evil. For a servant is no man at all but an instrument of another. Your failures, so long as you obey without sense and judgment, are but the extension of my hand. How liberating it is to be a slave," he spoke with deep sadness, for he knew that the same pride would not allow him to choose such a path, although it beckoned to him also when his hopes were withered by constant toil in his mind's workshop. "To renounce your humanity, your sentience – how innocent you shall be! Not unlike the animals who are the slaves of instinct."

"I doubt it not," he answered him.

"Would you truly do it, or only as a game that we would play?" the other asked.

"It would be a difficult habit to break, to cease to think and protest. Moreover, there is many a slave who feels the guilt of his master as keenly as his own, for to renounce one's will in one leap, rather than choice by choice, still means one must exercise his will – in choosing not to choose. And so I would be cheated in thinking that I am truly absolved. But the greatest difficulty would be the fear that you would respect me no more. That fear, and the one of losing myself entirely, if we were to dismiss the element of choice as it were. I would be afraid of ceasing to exist, of becoming nothing more than your hand."

"Your fears are well founded, it is true that I would respect you the less, for I do not respect myself as much as you respect me and oft feel to be a fraud. That is why we flee to the woods. That is why it bothers me so when you see me gilded in gold."

"You fail to answer me, and with your distracting words, perhaps hope that I would forget," said the Keeper. "Is love amongst the doomed impermanent things?"

"I hesitate to answer and indeed wish to lead you away from a response. Would it loathsome be if I answer with a question of my own, my question being – why speak of doom? Whence comes the virtue in permanence? Does a flower that blooms but for a day not arouse our adoration all the more greatly for the fleeting nature of its beauty? We cherish it more fervently, we are not distracted by the thought that tomorrow we can admire it better, appreciate it better, love it better. It is only the here and the now that we have, to love with the expanse of our hearts - for tomorrow, the object of our love shall be no more. Again we shall be reunited with our desolation and aloneness."

"My mind sees the logic of your words but my instincts reel against such thoughts. I want what is goodly and beautiful to be mine and mine always. To possess it and hold it close to my heart, never letting it go – my suffocating love, a love which I know is undesirable to my beloved, a love which constrains it and wishes to banish its freedom."

"I would venture the idea that you do not truly wish to be my slave, but having failed to become my master, would ensnare me thus."

"You know my ways well. If I were not so weak, I would have it so," the Keeper answered unabashed. "Moreover, I spot a flaw in your sense - in that you mistake passion for love, which in itself is a thing we have failed to define and so grasp blindly for its worth."

"Shall we attempt to define love?" spoke the Founder.

"Let us strive to – closing our eyes, we shall describe the lover and the beloved and thus, reach at love as our ancestors had before us."

They did as was spoken. First they saw the beloved's external beauty, stemming from the instincts of the body and opening the gates of love for many a heart. So innately was it associated with other virtues by the untrained mind – yet this they had trained themselves to reject as base and shallow, a snare for the heart. Instead, they made themselves see a hideous figure and filled it with love, its grotesque face no more akin to goodness, but somehow more deserving and pure to the ascetic for its lack of dangerous temptation.

Then they reached deeper, beneath the skin, at the intangible beauty which they imagined within. Honor, truth, loyalty, resilience, intellect, patience, talent and all manner of other virtues passed before them - but it was difficult to say which of these virtues were the worthiest or whether all, or perhaps none, of these qualities were essential to the giving and receiving of love.

Did they desire to find what it meant to give love, or rather, what kind of being was worthy of love? How alike were the two? Did one not stem from the selfish ego and the other from its foil? Was the giving of love ever unconditional? They felt overwhelmed by what they saw, for each time they grasped at something, a series of new difficulties presented themselves. Much there was that had to be defined before they approached the giving and receiving of love. It was tempting to let the matter rest, attributing it to the chemicals of one's body and conditioning of one's youth, thus stripping love of any deeper meaning and worth. Could love just be an accident of nature which our minds had lifted up to lofty heights? When the latter possibility was mentioned, both men grew silent and wished to speak no more. The turn their conversation had taken was sterile and condescending to the beauty of life. It was against both of their natures to embrace the cold laboratory of the scientists, although logic, or the semblance of logic, was highly prized between them.

"It is a relief to me that we hide nothing from one another, which we hide not from ourselves," the Founder spoke at last, breaking the silence.

"Indeed, you hold no dagger behind my back, and that is a rare thing," the other smiled sardonically.

"Yet these talks scare me in their boldness, as it is dangerous to speak so boldly to any man," said the elder.

"They scare me also, it is true," his friend nodded. "I am most frightened of myself."

"And I of me," spoke the Founder.

"Where shall we run to if even this cave offers us no shelter?"

"This cave is perhaps the worst medicine of all for our ailments, as we see nothing and hear nothing but our own voices – which are much alike – and the screeching of the bats, the movement of their wings. We know that there is a golden god nearby but we cannot see him," the other smiled at the last of his words, as they offered a strange comfort.

"Do you wish to worship him? I feel the strange sensation that I do, although I do not understand him entirely and know him but little."

"You are maddened with worshiping! It is exactly with those qualities that he draws you near."

"Again you wish to escape my questioning. Already I suspect your answer."

"Then I must answer you: my desires are the same. Let us bend our knees and touch our heads to the ground."

"But which way shall we turn? For it is dark and I cannot recall where he lies."

"It matters not - for if our god surrounds us with his omnipotence, then in any and all directions may men bow to him."

"You are wise and know the ways of gods."

The two men fell to their knees and closed their eyes, seeing no more and no less than what they had seen previously – the absoluteness of the dark cave. Somewhere within the glistening figure stood and comforted them by its cold unwaveringness.

They remained thus meditating until the moon gave way and the sun's rays reached out to warm the earth. They saw little of its light, but the bending of their knees made their bodies ache and so in time they rose up and suddenly felt the soreness of their backs and necks with ample intensity. They wondered if the other felt his own foolishness too - both ashamed of their yearnings, which in the nighttime appeared so full of reason. The man of gold grew hollow once more - as he seemed to them when they had first entered the cave. They felt the hunger in their bellies and the coldness which clung to their skin, wondering how long it had been so. The presence of the winged creatures grew unpleasant to them, they were but vermin. Such was the absence of the moon.


	18. Chapter 18

The girl's soul drifted across many ages until she grew quite weary and numb to the wonders which she would behold, her curiosity exhausted for the time being, even towards the toils of the gods. Although eyes and lids she had none, she was not kept from slumber, until her spirit, well rested, could be carried to new lands by the constant churning of the celestial sea.

When at last she woke, a round face looked upon her with a smile and kindness in its eyes. The creature had the head of a boy with golden locks and fair skin, while his body was covered in feathers. She could see plainly that he had no hands, only a pair of golden wings, and a tail to keep him balanced. His feet, although these she had not yet seen, were like two falcon's claws, and with these he held a vessel of water. He hopped on one foot and poured with the other, filling a giant empty walnut with the clear liquid. Anna could well see that he meant for him to drink and so she did, not meaning to offend her strange host, and her throat felt so dry she was drank with eagerness. When she had at last quenched her thirst, the young woman eyed the other more closely, wondering at what he was – for never before had she seen such a being. Neither spoke, but instead, they looked upon one another keenly.

She did not know why she ventured to do it but she had felt a sudden impulse to whistle, a fine tune familiar to her since childhood, she knew not whence it came – for none there were to teach her music in those formative years. The woman did not whistle long unaccompanied, for soon the feathered boy joined her in her music, following her as best he could, and in time followed after her with few errors. They whistled the repeating melody together and it brought them both great comfort and happiness to enjoy such a simple pleasure, that in an unfamiliar land one can do familiar things, with a stranger not unwelcoming, and so forget many a trouble of old.

Soon a head appeared from the doorway, which was no more than a round hole in what looked like a giant ball of ferns and twigs thatched together. It was another bird-like creature, with curling brown hair and green eyes, its skin just as fair as that of the first one she had laid eyes upon. It said nothing but simply smiled at the two of them and listened to their singing, rocking its head from side to side as though in a trance. In this ball that appeared to be their home, Anna had laid upon a bed of soft tufts of fur of various shades, a large lump on which she rested quite comfortably. Little else furnished the room and that which was stored within was simply piled carefully, like with like – fresh and dried berries, small stones, seeds and nuts, bright leaves, and even some colorful scraps of a man-made origin. This humble dwelling was situated high above the ground, although not so far as to reach the sky, upon a large tree which had taken root thousands of years ago. When she got up and looked out through a hole in the thatch-work, she could see giant trees unlike those of her old home – the White Castle, and each time she thought of it she would wonder at how far she had gone and how many impossible things she had seen. All the while, she carried on the tune, nor did her host cease singing in his beautiful voice, which seemed to carry over great distances and had an angelic aura about it which soothed Anna's spirit.

They went on thus until the young woman's throat grew dry once more - again he filled her vessel and again she drank. But this time, they did not pick up the refrain, but rather, he addressed her in her own tongue.

"We are glad to have you here in our nest below the clouds," he began. "We saw you falling during a night hour. Had your dress not been caught upon a branch, we would have feared for you."

At his words, Anna perceived a tear in the linen frock which she wore and felt thankful, although she did not remember such happenings.

"Thank you for helping me," she said with some embarrassment.

"There is no need to thank us, for you had once saved our sister, although perhaps you remember it not – we are equally grateful," replied the golden-feathered creature.

"I do not remember, but I wish to – will you tell me of it?" she asked.

"Perhaps she will tell you of it, that would be best," and with those words he made a second sound, for the ears of those of his kind, and at his hall, another head appeared at the threshold – another fair-haired one, this time a girl. She had yellow plumage with a few feathers marked with black.

"Forgive me, I had been listening to the songs and words you had exchanged – so glad was my heart to see you again," said the girl, hopping closer to the bedside.

"It is no matter, I would like to hear from you and the day that joined us," Anna replied.

"In the realm of the flightless ones I had wandered, never before had I gone there and many warnings I was heedless to. I was surrounded by threatening sounds and scents, of poison and of thunder. The flightless ones gathered there and the ground before me was like a scorching fire to my bare feet. I could see trees in the distance and yearned to take shelter there but the great beasts of thunder and poison would not let me pass. Between the feet of the flightless ones I darted towards a shaped stone and only then did I realize that my wing was injured and bleeding. I did not know what to do and was filled with horrible fear! That is when I saw you, one of the flightless ones, the first who had taken notice of me and approached. You were with some others who tried to catch me and I feared for the worst, I tried to escape your nets but eventually a white-haired one got hold of me. I screamed but it was to no avail. Only later would I see that what seemed like the worst had come was not so – for you had taken me to the forest which I sought and from there I could return to my own realm. That is all I remember, for I was quite young then. Still, I remember your scent and your blue eyes."

Anna listened with great interest to the feathered being and dimly recollected such a happening, if only as part of a dream or a past life. She did not know how to answer her but smiled with gladness that she had offered help to another, if so she had done.

"These are my brothers," the female spoke, "Hesiod and Herodotus, and I am Psyche. What name have you?"

"I am Anna," she answered.

"A lovely name," Psyche bowed her head to her.

"You look almost like birds, can you truly fly?" Anna asked, both in curiosity and to break a shy silence between them.

"Oh yes! It is a great joy to fly – the greatest joy there is!" the bird hopped up, fluttering her wings gently.

"You are all so wonderful, like angels," Anna beamed.

"What are angels?" she ruffled her feathers.

"Never you mind – I wish to say, you are beautiful and I sense your inner goodness," said the young woman.

"Will you fly with us?" the youth asked.

"Oh yes! Oh yes!" the yellow finch made the cheerful sound of the birds.

"I-I cannot," Anna felt embarrassed to disappoint them, also wondering how they could not see her featherless arms.

"Would you like to? There are ways," the sparrow youth made answer.

"Which ways?" Anna started up from her bed.

"You would eat grains soaked in the Well of Desire, and if you truly desire to become as we are, you shall so become," so the other explained.

"I have heard of such a well before, and although I have seen no good or evil sprout from it plainly, I nevertheless worry to hear it mentioned. I had thought that this world where I am now is very far from that whence I came."

"Oh but all the worlds are linked, none can be entirely separated from the others!" the girl said as though it were a well-known thing.

"Excuse our sister, for she is much lacking in patience. You may fly, Psyche and we shall join you soon," the brother turned to the yellow-feathered one and at his reply she raced out of the nest and soared through the trees, all the while Anna's heart longed to follower her and was left to its imagining.

"I can see in your gaze that you desire this, but you are fearful of great changes – after all, you are naturally of the flightless ones," the youth spoke. "You need not answer now; the grains will wait until you are ready."

He walked from her to one of the piles, upon which was a blue bottle-cap filled with seeds floating upon water. Anna wondered if the grains were at all necessary, for was it not the water from the well which would make her wishes come to be? But this she did not say, only eyeing the make-shift bowl with uncertainty. She thought it best to push the matter from her mind for now and decide upon it when her head was clearer.

"Is there a balcony?" she asked, wishing to look outside at the trees again through a better vantage point.

"Of sorts," she was answered, the fair-haired youth led her outside to what was a perch made of sticks and twine. She held fast to it with arms and legs, gazing out at the expanse of the great forest.

She could see many like dwellings, spheres of thatch-work. About them fluttered both human-faced and bird-faced beings – that is to say, ordinary birds, ordinary but in their size. The finches, sparrows, nut-hatches, robins, chickadees, and the rest, appeared to be of her height or larger! She marveled at their beautiful wings and their cheerful voices. It seemed to her a paradise.

"Why are some of the birds human-like and others with beaks?" the girl ventured to ask.

"Those that are fully birds were always – no, that is perhaps not the best way to tell you about it. Rather, let me begin with the half-birds, like I," he perched beside her. "Long ago, there was a little girl who lived among the flightless ones, she was of their race as much as one can be – but only in body. She spent many hours in her garden, both during the beauty of spring and during the winter frosts, for even then she had the chickadees to rejoice in. The girl spent so much time among the birds that her friends and family would wonder at it, but in her heart she knew that there was nothing in the world that could bring more pleasure than to be among her feathered spirits. She prayed fervently that she could join them and fly with them. The girl prayed to no god of the flightless ones but to the universe itself, and while she was playing pretend by a river stream, the universe heard her. She was taking a walk by a stream and suddenly she felt a very strong magnetism towards it, and when she knelt down and cupped her hands, drinking from the stream – her wish was granted. For the universe had routed water from the Well of Desire to the stream of her realm. For many days she would come to drink from the stream in secret, in the mornings before her parents awoke and sometimes late at night, she would put on a coat over her pajamas and climb out of the window with a flashlight. She knew that no one must see her drinking of the stream, for the universe had told her so. Gradually, she saw that her body was beginning to change – her skin was coated in red blisters, the beginning of feathers protruding. They would itch very much and sometimes at night she could not keep herself from scratching them. She felt very bad about it afterwards and even her mother began to notice the stains upon the bed sheets when she would do the washing without notice. Her family wondered if she had the chickenpox, so I believe it is called, and took her to the doctor. The doctor was a well-learned man but he could not make out the signs of the strange illness – with his blood tests and his ointments. Never before had he seen such bristles coming from a girl's skin. As the feathers grew larger, there was no hiding it anymore. Her parents would keep a close watch on her, greatly worried, and this caused her to worry too, as she could no longer make worthy excuses to visit the stream. The girl wondered what would happen if she stopped going, would the feathers stop growing? Would they recede back? She did not want to be left between being a bird and a human, at least not a flightless one! And so she would rage and throw fits, telling her parents that she absolutely must visit her friends in the forest, the birds she meant. Her mother cried with her and held her and at last she allowed her to go, but only if she accompanied her – it seemed to her that her daughter was not feverish nor showed any other signs of malady save for the rashes and the blisters. The two woman walked to the forest neighboring their house and meanwhile Anna struggled with whether or not she should tell her mother of the stream, fearing that she would forbid it. But alas she saw how difficult it would be to keep it hidden for much longer and so she told her everything. The girl could tell that her mother did not believe her but thought that this was the product of childish fancy and make-believe, and indeed the mother told her so, worried that there was something in the water that was making it sick.

"Who knows where that water comes from - perhaps from the sewer!" she tried to draw her daughter away but she did not listen, drinking deeply from the stream.

And so it would be, that the girl would run again to the river, taking no heed of her parents anymore – for she knew that her deepest desires were coming to fruition and that it was too late to go back, nor did she wish too. She could understand the songs of birds and when they called out to each other she wished to answer back as one of their kind. The feathers grew long and covered almost all of her body, and her legs, they too began to change. At first it was very frightening to see her toes join together, the picture of deformity, and her small pink nails grow dark and long. Sometimes when she looked into the mirror or felt her skin in the shower she felt like a monster and grew scared. One evening she even screamed out and her mother came rushing to the door, banging to get it open but it was locked from inside. The girl felt very bad indeed to have caused her family so much worry and heartache, she often wished to run away, and knew that she ultimately would – joining her new family. She would spend many hours locked in her room, or else out in the forest bringing seeds to her friends. The latter was the only time when her heart knew peace. She thought of bottling the water from the stream so that she may drink of it more frequently and would sometimes take a ruler from her desk and measure the length of a certain feather she had marked with ink to keep track of its growth. Although the girl missed her friends among the flightless folk, her fear of being out-casted was the greater. Instead, she would read and think of the people in the books as her companions among her kind, it was with irony that she flipped through a book about puberty which her well-meaning aunt had given her – a most embarrassing gift as she recalled it. She wondered if there was somewhere a book on the sort of changes which she was going through, for if such there was it would be a great comfort to read through during the quiet evenings. So many things were different now, no longer did she crave her favorite foods – even out of pity for her family she could not force the morsels down her throat at dinner time. It seemed thoroughly monstrous to eat chicken parmesan or cheese soufflé. And even sweets such as ice-cream and cookies no longer beckoned her, for she could hardly taste their sweetness. As an experiment, she ate a whole spoonful of sugar but even then she could taste nothing! Sunflower seeds, however, were eaten in plenty. Her parents bought them regularly at a garden center where they were sold in large bags, sometimes the clerk would ask about them or make an amused remark, but neither one of them would know how to answer. As the months passed, the girl's body was entirely changed – only her face remained. She smiled again when she looked in the mirror, for there was nothing that disgusted her about the soft plumage that covered her nor the strong feet with which she could climb even the tallest trees. It had been some time since she visited the stream, as she had filled many bottles with it which had lasted her well, but she had only two left and so she believed it was time to make the journey into the deeper part of the forest. However, when she thought she had found the place, it looked much changed – many trees and shrubs had been uprooted and she could see the tracks of bulldozers in the mud. With a face soaked in tears she ran faster and faster, trying to find the place where the stream had been. But no stream was to be found, only a trench filled with gravel and the transgressing bulldozers and trucks parked beside it. The forest was unrecognizable. When she got home, the girl buried her face in her pillow and cried for many an hour, her parents tried knocking upon her door but she would not open it until morning came. When she had wearied herself out and got out of bed at last, she picked up the two precious bottles of stream water and wondered what would become of her. Would they be enough? When the time came and the water had all been drunk, the girl left her home of old and took flight. She made no goodbyes, for these would be too painful, and she took nothing with her, believing that the forests of the world would provide. And so she flew and flew until she reached this realm, uninhabited and unknown to the flightless, where the trees and the wilderness flourished, and all manner of creatures thrived in abundance. Here the birds were larger than men and she joined them in their nests, and they, like for a hatchling, taught her their ways. Of breaking nuts, of finding water, of building nests, and searching for mites. She was taught by the woodpeckers as well as the herons, from all races did she glean secret truths. But she had lived long ago and lives no more, we are her ancestors and the birds, the children of their kind. We live together as you see, although our races do not mingle in love, save for as brothers and sisters. Many other children had come to our land since the first girl came, called here by the universe. If they were young enough in age that their body could still withstand the changes, they could drink from the stream. As for the old, in their next lifetime they would be thus blessed, if their yearning persists. I hope that my answer is fitting and that now you understand."


	19. Chapter 19

Anna's thoughts were much occupied by the stranger's words, well imagining how she could have been as the girl who had founded their winged race, for her yearning to be with the birds was strong, as was that to take flight - drawn by the freedom of opening wide her soft wings and soaring across the sky with her companions. Never before had she considered such a thing possible but in dreams. Still, she brooded over what it would mean if she were to transform. What was the worst that could become of it? She would revert back to being a bird, as she once was, but what would happen to the part of her soul that was of the Keeper? The young woman feared that she would miss being a woman – she would miss her hands and soft skin, there would certainly be many things that she would no longer be able to do, or else only manage with difficulty. Things such as writing and reading would be an agony, for even to turn a page would mean much hopping and striving, and as for cooking and opening bottles – these things may no longer be possible at all. Moreover, she would regret it greatly if she could no longer speak to the flightless ones, but perhaps this was no matter as the beings which she had met were still able to converse with her.

"I can see that you are deep in thought," the youth spoke to her gently.

"Yes, I am imagining what it would be like to become a bird, as you are," she mused over where she would live and how she would get her food from then on, it sounded most unpleasant to eat worms and mites as certain birds do. And she did not have a particular liking towards seeds, to the exclusion of all else – but surely this too would come to her through her transformation, if such was her path.

"Surely it does not take much effort to imagine that," he smiled at her encouragingly. "You need only look outside and there is our world laid out before you."

"Yes, when I look outside I see a world of beauty. But how is it that you spend your days?" she asked him, "you and the other birds."

"Well – we have to devote a fair amount of time to searching for food and materials for our nests," he gestured with his wing, "As you can see all around you, we make sure the nest is well stocked, especially during the winter time when it is harder to find what one needs."

"Surely it must have taken ages to find it all – but why do you collect these things and where do they come from?" she pointed to the strange pieces of metal and shards of glass.

"Oh those," he uttered a melodic laugh. "They belong to Psyche, she gets them from the Central Command District."

"Which part of the forest is that?" said Anna in an amused tone. It did not sound at all like the name of a river or forest grove, and there was nothing else as far as her eye could see.

"When most of the gathering and building is done, Psyche sometimes flies off past the woodland to other regions that our kind are not known to frequent. I guess many of the birds here have lived around this area for generations and do not like to fly too far from the rest of the flock. When they do migrate, it is usually to another forest far away across the great ocean. It is funny how they are, if it is far enough and they are flying together, they worry not. There is something about the cities which they are not very fond of, they do not speak of it when we try and ask. I am sorry for being so vague, I confess I have only gone with Psyche a few times – just to make sure she was safe. But she is growing up quickly and the more I try to be protective of her, the more she rebels. Our oldest brother tried to forbid her gathering excursions altogether – he said it is not safe and in any case, we hardly have enough room in the nest for everything she brings back. The argument escalated so much that they started pecking at each other and the forest elders had to be called. In the end, it went by the principle of our people, that each bird and half-bird is free to fly where he or she chooses, save for the nest of another – if he is not welcomed there, which is mainly when there are hatchlings. Indeed, that is as much as can be said of the cities, if you want to know more I suppose you must ask Psyche when she returns, although I think it best that you let the matter rest. What could you need for in this lush forest? It has everything!" the fair-haired youth assured her, a part of him did not relish the thought of her leaving so soon. Anna sensed that he knew more that what he had told her, but she did not press him further lest it were to distress him.

"I must find my husband; that is one thing that still has to be found – I doubt that he is here, as much as I doubt that he is in the city – still, I am curious," she confessed. "Have you ever heard of an island ruled by a queen? She throws great parties and has many hideous servants to wait on her, but they are not really hideous, it is just the way she makes them be."

"What a strange thing," he fluttered his wings, in the depth of his heart he was unhappy to hear that there was a husband somewhere and felt ashamed to wish him lost. "No, I know of no kings or queens, only the Chairmen, who are the closest to the kings of old who are no more. Our societies have nothing of the like, and such is best I believe. The elders advise but they never command, you will see."

"Who are the Chairmen which you speak of? There are so many things that I do not know about your world," Anna wondered if there would ever be a welcoming place that she could call home.

"There are twelve of them, the Twelve Chairmen. There were rather, before four of them disappeared. Some say it was an assassination but others have heard rumors that they had gone into hiding – no one knows why, at least not amongst the people, otherwise someone would have said something. The birds share all matters of community importance. Then again, I suppose the matters that affect the cities rarely affect us. They do not go to the forests often, and when they do they stay around the outskirts – they usually come with big machines and take some of the lumber away to sell. They do not build with it as much as they used to, there are laws restricting that – one of the Chairmen who disappeared had a great respect for nature and got angry when it was destroyed. Some criticized him greatly for this but he was still very popular amongst his people as much as ours. The remaining Chairmen have not imposed any new laws for many years – it is part of the old code that new laws cannot be made until the bodies of the missing Chairmen are found, or until three generations have passed away – what a long time to wait."

"How does the city get by if it cannot make any laws? What if the bodies are never found? Surely the people cannot wait three generations," Anna interrupted. "That sounds rather absurd".

"It is to prevent plotting amongst opposing factions, it has been said. And if a body is found in the city, never has there been a time when the unlawful faction had not been traced from it. As for the laws, those already there are so extremely detailed - I could easily imagine that no new ones would be needed for thousands of years. And there is still the Collective Vote for small decisions. The city dwellers are all connected to one another you see, by a little piece of metal and wires implanted upon their brains when they are born – it is about the size of a sunflower seed I am told. Whenever there is something that many people would be affected by, the Chairmen have to put a poll to all of the populace within a certain range and then act accordingly. They could filter by age or location, by education level or gender – they could choose exactly the right group! I could see how that would be faster than the meetings we have at the great tree, oftentimes it would be impossible to hear what anyone is saying as all of the birds are chirping at once – usually it is a really exciting time as afterward there is a group song, it is truly a wonder to see and hear. All types of birds come from near and far to listen and sing, moreover, that is when decisions are made about the migrations to come and inventory is taken of the seeds that we have in storage. The elders need to know to make sure that we have enough for the winter, otherwise they would tell us to search harder or else divide our shares with those whose nests are in less abundant parts of the forest. That is why we never have to worry."

"You certainly know a lot about the cities," Anna ventured to speak, her curiosity getting a hold of her. When he spoke of it his voice grew almost as excited as when he spoke about the rituals of the birds.

"Y-yes – I do, I suppose," he grew red-faced, knowing that he had been thoughtless. But it was rare that someone asked him about the city and there were times when he would think about it for long hours. No one forbid it, but to him there was a forbidden aura about the outskirts of the forest; he did not speak about such thoughts to the other birds or half birds. Although no one was unkind to him, his race would sometimes wonder at him when he seemed to be listening too keenly to the news bearers which came to the elders – ordinary birds had no business to listen, so long as the machines did not get too close. "I-I used to be one of the scientists who worked in the Microbiology District – but that is not me anymore, no, that is just like a past life. And I am glad to be here. You will see that this is a good place," he wanted to lift the weight that was upon him by the confession to the outsider and at the same time to reassure both her and himself of the intentions in his heart.

"You are lucky to live in such a caring community as this," Anna smiled at him, knowing that it was likely best to change the subject for the other looked quite ill at ease. She felt no ill will towards him, for the youth and his family were the only beings she knew in this strange world – although "knowing" was perhaps too familiar a term. They had been friendly to her and what reason had she truly to doubt his kindness? Even as she thought these thoughts, she felt upset with herself, due to an inkling of doubt that came from no worthy place. His nervousness made her nervous, that was the simplest way that she could explain it.

"Indeed, I would never wish to live anywhere else," he answered her. "And you are welcome to join us, you know that do you not?"

"Even if I do not become as you are?" she asked with some embarrassment.

"Well – I – I do not know if you could then, it has never been done you see. You would be the only flightless one living among our kind," he answered her, equally abashed.

"I understand, I'm sorry –" she did not wish to force herself upon them, they had already been so kind to her.

"No please, there is nothing to be sorry for. I just do not know, that is all. It is something that has never been done before but perhaps you could be the first."

"I am not sure yet either, I must think about it longer – whether or not I should become as you are," said Anna. "If I were to eat the grains would I become a half bird as you are or would I become a bird fully? I have not told you this yet but my spirit is already that of a bird, in part."

"Truly? How could that be?" he did not understand her meaning. "You look nothing like a bird, you seem like an ordinary woman of the flightless ones to me. Not ordinary, that is to say-" he blushed at his misplaced words.

"I was made from the soul of a bird, that is what I had been told," she gave him the best answer she could.

"In that case, I do not know what will happen when you transform. It may well be that you will become fully a bird," he replied.

"I suppose that is not the worst of things," she thought out loud.

"No, surely not," he said flippantly, for his kind had a great respect for the full birds – in fact, they viewed them as superior to the flightless ones and themselves. He reasoned that never had there been a tale of a bird who had become a human and many of humans becoming birds, until he met Anna that is. Moreover, the birds knew much more about the ways of nature, right from birth, compared to any half bird – who had to be taught everything and often were slower learners, however, the birds never made them feel inferior nor unwelcomed. So long as a half bird was gentle and patient in their learning, so was his or her teacher.


	20. Chapter 20

Amphelios and the Founder departed the cave at dawn and took their time in the enjoyment of the first rays of light, their eyes slowly adjusting to the world above the ground. The landscape took on an aura of great beauty as it was touched by the divine sun and both yearned to find a vantage point high enough to see the rolling hills which they remembered of old. This wish was granted as the forest path which they took led them to the perimeter of the forest to an area of farmsteads. The wheat fields were thriving and appeared to be of gold as the high stocks rocked to and fro in the morning breeze. As they walked onward, they neared the forest and looked below them for anything that could be made a meal of, however most of the berries that they saw were either poisonous or wizen, for it was not their time. They drank from a farmer's well and that was enough until they reached the Founder's cottage, hidden among the pines. A lovely trail led to it, lined with bird houses of assorted sizes. The path was alive with fluttering of wings and intermingling voices hitting various notes. Not far off there were also bee's nests from which the old man would collect his honey, for he was an expert beekeeper and did well not to disturb them more than was necessary. Cows, goats, and poultry were kept a short walk from the home, as well as black-faced sheep from which was gathered wool. Such was the Founder's tranquil existence; the man took a great pride in his self-sufficiency, believing in nurturing the living things of nature so that they may do for him likewise in their turn. He spent many a day working in his garden, taking pleasure in the herbs which would sprout from the earth after his tender care. Likewise, he checked upon a grove of tomatoes, cucumbers, gourds, potatoes, celery, rhubarb, strawberries, black current, and peppers. These things kept him alive, and he them.

Each morning he would amble down a forest path to a neighboring stream and fill two pails with fresh water. He would make this trip four or six times a day for the needs of his garden and the cooking, cleaning, and washing which were daily cares for him. Some days, he would be occupied with the work of weaving, for no wife had he to occupy herself thus. Yet even in this he took great pleasure and learned the art of embroidery. For one for whom time runs endlessly, there is no need to be troubled or hurried - of tomorrow he has no doubt. He can take the time to breathe in the scent of the Lily and the Forget Me Not, to throw seeds to the birds with a gentle hand, to listen to the humming of the bees and delight in the warmth of summer.

Another joy of his was the carving of furniture – this he made from pieces of wood he found about the forest which had an uncanny beauty in their twist and their turns, in the color of the grain. He would pick them up if he could or drag them if he could not, and bringing them to his abode, he would work at them in his shop – a bench and tool shed behind his cottage. Whenever he went to the village for certain supplies which could not be easily had, usually metals and other materials which involve much processing and laboring beneath the earth, he would also bring back assorted glazes, not only for the oak but for the pottery from which he had his meals. Over many lifetimes, he delighted in learning the craftsmen's trades.

He would rarely be seen by the people, except for on the occasional market day, when he would bring some of his handicraft wares and lay them out on a blanket. The old man would enjoy watching the townsfolk and their children ambling down the cobblestone, the shouting and boisterous laughter which he had sought refuge from in the woods was not so unwelcomed when it was heard now and then. A favorite memory for him was the smell of bread rising in town baker's oven, never could he recreate the scent at home exactly so when he made his own bread. He remembered working in such a place long ago, but many a lifetime had passed by since, so that it was only a vague recollection of a dream.

Of these things spoke the Founder to his friend, as they shared the glimmers of their passing days. Although it had been hundreds of years, so little had changed; the birds continued to sing joyfully, the garden continued to bloom, the sun continued to rise – never wavering in splendor. Many a child would be born who would learn of nature's beauty for the first time, and many an old man would discover it anew – one could be certain that it would wait for him patiently until he grew tired of his toils on the farm or in the workshop, at any hour he could look upon it so long as there was a garden or tree not too far off. He could smile and rest his tired heart.

There, too, were to joys of secret imaginings, as the Keeper would recall the many books within his library. So many there were that he had not yet been able to read them all and forever did his bookcases grow. When he was younger, he would search around the world for new volumes to add to his collection, and when the weather was fine, he would read them outside in a field. It would be difficult to reach, as one had to take a boat from the White Castle, but it would be well worth the journey, which was in itself a pleasant one. The scent of manuscripts and the feeling of parchment as he lifted the pages one by one was an unrivaled sensation. One could travel very far by such means. He would create paintings and drawings too, depicting all that he had heard of, thus making them his own and taking a part in them. These he brought to the Founder as often as he could, either in person or by parcel. It would take years to reach the island, for few knew its location. The unfortunate postman would have to travel by long boat near and far asking for the route, but eventually he would find it. Maps and navigation were of no use, for the island was constantly moving, by the whims of the great turtle on which the trees had taken root, keeping the earth in its place. The mountains, too, were a mystery. Some were made of stone, it was well known, but other mountains ought by no means be excavated for they were warts and grooves upon the great turtle's shell. Experts about the town were hired and consulted each time a new mining project was undertaken, for although it had been many years, the townsfolk and their grandparents did not forget to pass on the tale of the Great Earthquake to their young ones. For many days black smoke obscured the sky and monstrous blood and gore flowed down to cover the houses, sparing no one. It was thick and hot as fire, for the turtle's body was accustomed to a monstrous heat and thus it was always in need of the cooling waters, never did it raise its head. Some would ask whether the turtle ever dived into the water so fully as to flood the island, but such had never been heard of – whether there were none left of their ancestors to speak of it was as question that many would think of when they would first hear of the turtle, shivering in fear at the very thought. Yet it must be said, none had ever seen the head of the turtle, nor could any provide worthy proof. There was a time when a group of men, the best pearl divers of the island, were sent in search of the turtle's head and its four legs – but no word was ever heard of them, they had left their wives as widows, although some would wait by the lighthouse until the end of their years, still waiting for their return. It is said that their ghosts still haunted the jagged coast, in wait for their husbands. They would beckon to approaching boats, with their pale arms outstretched and their white nightgowns billowing in the wind, and their ashen faces streaming with tears. But it was their howling cry which frightened men most, some would say it was only the billowing of the winds through the caves but who could be certain? For many a man had claimed to see the women's ghosts. Indeed, one such lady had certainly been seen casting herself into the waves when her hopes had waned and love had made her breaths painful.

Whether these were simply fisherman's tales, the Founder cared not to elaborate, instead he smiled quizzically as he stirred a pot of split pea soup upon the fire. Indeed a hearty flame it was that warmed their breakfast, along with some freshly baked oat cakes that would go well with the soup; the two men awaited them eagerly as the scent rose from the pot and filled the room with a welcoming aroma. It felt safe inside the cottage, so unlike the coldness of the cave. In such a place all troubles could be forgotten and one could rest his aching feet on a warm bed or rug by the fireplace. All was as it ought to be, so they deemed.

The Founder continued stirring and telling of the tales of the land until the potatoes and peas were soft and ready, the herbs having released their flavor, the chicken in the broth being well tender. These stories filled them both with a childlike wonder, fear, and delight, depending on the tone of the tale, just as the soup filled them with warmth and the feeling of home.

Many an hour passed while they spoke of the tales of the folk which surrounded them, some merely superstition and others based on truths that had grown distorted throughout the ages as they passed from mouth to mouth, taking on a supernatural element which so piqued curious minds. One of the tales which they brought from memory was that of a hermit who lived deep in the woods, much in the manner of the Founder, but without the intent – for no choice had he in departing from the townsfolk who feared him greatly. Both men and women would cower to see his deformed visage, a budging eye half closed and flaring nostrils like a bull's. His hair was sparse and the color of fire, so easily they linked him with the devil's spawn – the shade of his scantly locks being no ordinary sight to see. His clothing would be worse than a beggar's, as few there were who would give alms to such a one. If he had not his own strength to depend on he would not have had long to live, perishing in the cold mountain air – so it was rumored, that the strange being now resided in a cavern and descended only at night to hunt in the forest. Some would say that he would grapple with bears, using only his great arms of incomparable size, but this was a doubtful case. The being was still human, the Founder doubted it not, and most likely a timid on at that – he had seen him but once, during a pilgrimage searching for mushrooms and herbs that grew close to the mountainside. It would take at least two days to reach the area on foot, he recollected, sensing a yearning to return there. His stocks of herb were diminishing, but that was not the main reason, if he did not deceive himself – it was a curiosity that had remained in him for many years since he first laid eyes on the solitary being. It was much a rarity, and if it still lived, he would have greatly wished to speak to it of its life. But even of its existence there were doubts in the old man, for it had long been since he had claimed to see it, it had been a late night too and perhaps by moonlight he had mistaken some beast for a mountain-dwelling man. The two companions discussed the journey amongst themselves, bringing to light the advantages and disadvantages of such an excursion, for in truth there was little reason in going about it for the sake of the strange being alone – their odds of finding him being not to be relied upon. Yet if they camped for many days and searched the mountains thoroughly, stopping but for rest and meals, they may perhaps find him or some signs that he had been there – perhaps a makeshift cabin or the remnants of a campfire. But these could well belong to a wandering troupe of gypsies and not the strange beast. Of such talk they grew embarrassed, as there was something childish in it, to set out on a journey with little purpose save for satisfying curiosity about a thing most absurd. And what would they do were they to find him? It was doubtful that he would have the ability of speech, having had no teacher or mother to lecture him. Yet by some inner notion, a thing in itself indescribable, they felt almost certain that they would meet with the being of lopsided ears and crooked teeth, the being of swollen feet and hunched back – as tales described him to be such a one.

It was only midday and they had much time to make preparations. They took what provisions they could carry and set large sacks upon mules – laden with oat cakes, water, and materials for a tent, among other small items that need not be accounted for. By the time the sun began to set, they believed themselves to be well prepared for the journey, with enough supplies to last them several weeks. When they at last lay down to sleep, they spoke with amusement about what a strange thing they were planning to do, to go in search of a fairy man of the make-believe, but it was partially for the sake of the trek itself that they went. They had both spent too much time living in the same small enclosure, rarely venturing too far. It would be pleasant to see more of the forest as well as the mountain.

The next morning, they got up at sunrise and ate a hurried breakfast of oatmeal, neither one of them speaking. Their minds were occupied with the hike to come and trying to recall if anything was forgotten which would be dearly missed once they were out in the woods. When at last they were ready to depart, each of them led his mule onward through overgrown pines. They had a lot of ground to cover on the first day, if they hoped to reach a known stream by nightfall as well as set up their camp.

They walked for many hours until their feet grew sore and, more so, their backs, as each man carried a bundle of his own in addition to the three upon each mule. Amphelios was ashamed to find himself wearied so quickly, but it should not have surprised him, given his rather sedentary life at the White Castle. The Founder, although he kept himself busy with the care of his small estate, was no less weary – his bones were old and his back was bent, or perhaps it was in sympathy with his friend that he feigned to ache under his burden. And so they both decided it would be best to stop and rest, sooner than they had anticipated. They set down their supplies by a tall oak and sat down, leaning against its large trunk. The sun glared down at them and they could feel their backs drenched in sweat. The old man wiped the sweat from his brow with a long sleeve and turned to a leather-bound volume which he had kept in the pocket of his robe. Flipping through its dog-eared pages, he came to a passage marked by a scrap of ribbon. He read out loud in a strange tongue and at the sound of his voice the branches began to rustle and a cool breeze swept through the forest. It was a most welcomed happening and Amphelios wondered whether to attribute it to the other's peculiar verse. They exchanged a glance and the old man nodded to him, passing the volume to him and murmuring a few word. Amphelios studied the page carefully, although it was a simple spell, never had he need of it and so he failed to recognize the verses. He did his best to commit them to memory for such weather as that which oppressed them during the first day's journey.

"It is mad that I could have forgotten!" Amphelios got up from where he sat in an instant, "Why do we struggle with this burden when all the while a spell could have been cast." He was about to speak the verses when the old man raised his arm as though to silence him.

"It is not in the spirit of our journey to be so well provided for. Instead of being grateful for the breeze we turn to seeking out greater comforts, until we may just as well have convinced ourselves to remain home," so he spoke.

"That is well enough, but surely it was not I who made the breeze," Amphelios retorted.

"It was I, I strive not to hide it, but it was only because I took pity on you who are so unfit for our labors," the Founder grew irritable under the heat, for the breeze had ceased lest his friend would think him weak and contradictory.

"You offend me old man, as I had not asked for your help nor have need of it," the other man replied, his temper seething as well.

"Why, I wonder, did you set out on this madman's journey – in the dark of night it made much sense, after the telling of fanciful tales, to seek them out in our world. But now I am incredulous that we, at our age, go about seeking myths," the Founder closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.

"I would still like for us to keep to our track, it does not matter if we find the hunchback or not. Even if we find a few useful herbs, as we had agreed, it would not be time wasted. After all, why should we worry about time. It is an endless thing," he made as though to lift up his parcel again.

"Wait, let us have supper first, now that we are sitting," he opened his parcel and took out two loaves. "Here, this is yours."

"I had missed your baking, at the Castle one can only do so much to make dirt taste less like dirt," the other took the bread from his hand and bit off a piece unceremoniously, enjoying it all the more for that reason.

"You know that you need not keep doing things the way you had always done them. It may be that a thousand years had passed but one is never too old to change. Why do you insist on elaborate dinners with a troop of make-believe servants when you find them so oppressing?"

"It is for the ceremony of it, do you not see?" the man began to eat the bread in smaller bites. "Without ceremony and routine, I believe I would go mad with the endlessness of it. How does one cope with an infinite amount of time? It has to be divided into portions."

"Like the day of a school boy?" the old man scoffed.

"Certainly," Amphelios overlooked his tone.

"It is no wonder that you do not accomplish anything," he chastised.

"I thought that you were fervently against accomplishing – that one ought to live in the present moment and cease with striving to find peace. Those were your words exactly. But I do not know what I would do with peace, at least not for long intervals. To lie about or amble, smelling and listening. I could not do it," the man smiled at his companion.

"I do a good day's work, more than you ever would," the Founder corrected him. "Do you tend to your cows or dig out your turnips? No, it is easier to do away with cows and turnips completely and just eat dirt with glamour."

"Glamour you say? Do you speak of the wee men in the forest and their tricks?" he set down his loaf.

"Ah but you know of them surely?" the old man grinned with laughter in his eyes. "The townsfolk, in the mountains especially – they never cease to speak about the fairy men's magic. No one's seen them, of course."

"You mention their ways only so that I might ask you about them and so that you may laugh at me," said Amphelios.

"But of course, I will not let you forget how many years you spent searching for them. I do not think you had ever left your castle for such a great many years," the old man recollected. "Do you still have those bottles of fairy water? Whatever did you make of them?"

"Now is this journey not something of the kind?" Amphelios felt much discouraged at the idea that his friend had gone through all of the trouble of urging him on and preparing the mules only for a joke.

"Let us put that grudge behind us with a secret that I will tell you – or show you rather. I laughed at you then, you can be sure of that, but I was young then and you were younger. I thought you a fool, but then you got me thinking and reading. And – and here, why not show you," he reached into the pocket of his robe once more and took out a green volume which he handed to his friend.

"What is it?" the other asked before opening it up.

"Look, you will guess at what it is," the other smiled, patting him on the shoulder.

Amphelios leafed through the small book of bound parchment on which there was much scrawling in a shaky hand. It was the Founder's, he had no doubt. As his eyes passed over some of the lines written within, he knew at once that it dealt with the subject of fairies. He grinned widely, struggling not to laugh.

"How long ago did you write this?" he looked up at the other.

"I've never stopped writing it," the old man leaned back against the tree.

Indeed it was so, for as a person flipped through the book, new pages began to appear so that he seemed to never reach the end of it.

"When you open the book, think of the page that you want to find and that will be the page that you will see. Or if you want a blank page, a blank page you will get," the Founder explained the workings of the green volume.

"That is a clever bit of magic," Amphelios smiled at him.

"Indeed it is, I will teach it to you by the time our journey is through," he assured him. "But as for now, let us be as comrades in this search for our hunchback and discard the thought of one of us laughing at the other – there is little that is laughable about it. This creature, I believe that it is real. Whenever I doubt in it, I have the likes of you to look upon, who would gladly slink away into a cave for fear of his deformity."

"That is hardly comradely," said Amphelios.

"On a journey like this, when we are obliged to spend much time with one another, a dose of humor at our shortcomings would not go amiss," the other spoke as he felt.

"Let it be so then," he finished the last of the bread.


	21. Chapter 21

The hours passed idly, Anna craned her neck to watch the birds and the half-birds fly with branches, nuts, and berries in their beaks and their claws, bearing them to their nests for the cold days and nights that were to come. Herodotus told her of the changing of the seasons and their meaning to his people, the various ceremonies which were called to mark the changing of the last leaf from green to a fiery shade, the falling of the last leaf, and finally, the first snow. The winged-ones would gather by the tallest tree that was known to them in their forest and sing to the Sun to bring them warmth and to make the trees bear fruit; it was a merry occasion and one of great significance, as there was an innate fear in the full-birds that if they did not sing with the purest beauty and force of their throats, then the Sun would punish them with its absence. Indeed, the winters would sometimes last for one or two months longer than usual, but where never so long as to cause great dismay – for the birds would make sure that their stocks were well-laden in preparation for dire times. The Warming Dance was the most anticipated of ceremonies, that was when the brightly colored flowers in the forest would begin to bloom and spread their petals, releasing their sweet fragrance into the air and providing nectar for the hummingbirds – the smallest beings of the winged brood. Food was in great abundance and so there was great rejoicing and playfulness in the birds' hearts, they would at that time devote their efforts to search for their mates. Many species would dance and sing special songs that were only sung during the period of the Warming Dance, others would collect precious gifts and create ornate nests to welcome their beloved.

"No season is more lovely!" Herodotus told his visitor, pleased to see the joy and curiosity in her eyes.

"It certainly sounds very beautiful," she smiled, "I wish that I could be there to see the birds celebrate."

"It will come in a few months, one cannot be certain when exactly, but it will come," he assured her. "We just have to watch the forest carefully and pay attention to its scents, only then we will know."

Anna nodded her head, although not entirely certain of how the forest spoke to them. Although she had always enjoyed the beauty of nature, she had seen little of it behind the walls of the White Castle and so was not as well attuned to it as the birds were. But she was gladdened by the thought that they would soon teach her their ways and that in some sense perhaps she could become a part of their community. As for the question of changing, she had yet to decide. The matter weighed on her so strongly that she was often tempted to banish it from her mind completely and give her mind some rest from that which so daunted her. Yet not a day passed when her companions did not ask her of her decision, and each time she was obliged to shake her head, a rueful and embarrassed expression upon her face.

She so wanted to fly and to live as they lived, but there was a vague fear that still rested in her heart of leaving behind all that was dear to her from her past, she wondered if her husband would recognize her if she were to be so changed – surely he knew her origin well and would understand that it called to her to return as strongly as it did. Anna never learned from him the name of the forest from whence she came nor anything else of her spirit's original abode and so she would at times imagine with delight that perhaps this was the very place where she had been born. Although she would think of him from time to time, the new world had excited her so much that she could well forget for hours at a time, yet it was often in the night that she remembered the Queen and her horrid court circling about her.

Her new life soon took on the comfort of routine, each morning she would awake from her soft makeshift bed of assorted fur clumps and wash her face from a bowl fashioned from a giant walnut, the very same from which she first drank when she had arrived. She would then brush her long hair with a plastic purple comb which Psyche had scavenged several years ago – pleased to see that her collection was serving a purpose beyond pleasing her eyes and displeasing her brothers. Some of the bristles had been broken when she had found it but it still worked well, and neither she nor her brothers could fashion a better one. As for brushing her teeth, Psyche thought it a great fortune that she had a brush of the sort in her pile also, but this Anna refused as it looked particularly grimy and damaged, and so she turned down the kind offer as politely as she could. Instead, she settled for chewing mint, which much puzzled many of the full-birds when they had learned of the girl's peculiar habits, so unlike their own. She would then look forward to a breakfast with her new friends; their diet was one of fruits, seeds, and nuts for the most part – with the occasional beetle and worm for protein. Anna promised that one day she would try the latter, but many days passed without so much as a nibble from the writhing piles that were placed beside her. After the meal, they set to work upon the various tasks of the day – most often Psyche was occupied with gathering while the two brothers worked upon the new nest. Anna did her best to help with the construction and was a great help to them due the dexterity of her fingers which were apt at the thatch-work required, she even added some decorative elements by bending and twisting the branches to create beautiful designs around the entrance of the spherical nest. On the first day that she set to work with them, she asked whether they were relocating or if they would live in both nests – she could see how it could be quite cramped for the four of them to live together in one place, although it was still most pleasant to enjoy each other's company so often. The birds were very docile and rarely argued, so Anna observed, whenever their voices rose one of them would dart out of nest at a sudden moment and fly outside for some time before returning with his or her anger quite subsided. However, there were times when she saw some pecking take place at the entrance of a few of the nests. When she asked about this, Herodotus told her that pecking would sometimes happen between different species of birds when a particularly good spot was taken for nesting after another bird had already marked it for his own, and also there was the matter of mates.

Her friends explained to her that Hesiod had reached the age when he was to search for his beloved at the nest Warming Dance. That was why they were working on the nest. After he was united with his other half, he would move into the new nest with her – promising to visit his siblings often. Anna was overjoyed to be a part of the family's preparations and took even more care in decorating the home so that it would be the loveliest any bird had ever seen. She would help the two brothers sort through the tufts of animal hair which Psyche would bring for the very softest and cleanest, she would arrange the bounty of berries by type and color, and polish the beautiful stones which Hesiod would find for the ceremonial gifts so they glistened like stars. The latter could be searched for and chosen only by Hesiod himself, for such was the tradition, but as for the rest – he was glad to have the help of his friends. Flowers were brought to twine about the branches just outside the nest so that it would not fail to catch the eye of any passing bird. It was a wonder where Psyche found so many beautiful bulbs and how they stayed fresh for as long as they did.

Late at night, Anna could hear Hesiod practice his singing while leaping from branch to branch, his brown feathers puffed out as he sang with the full force of his voice. He would flap his wings in strange rhythmic motions, at times while carrying one of the shining stones, making patterns by his movements among the leaves. She would watch him practice for ours, although always in secret lest he should grow bashful knowing that she was close by. At times, Psyche and Herodotus would join her in this, all of them wondering if perhaps their brother knew they were there after all, and did not mind them. They were all eager, counting down the days until the elders would confirm what they each anticipated.

Anna and Herodotus were adding the final flourishes of color to the beautiful nest when they heard a great cry resound through the forest. It was the sound of the elder's call being carried from beak to beak by the birds nearest, to be sent far and wide like a powerful echo so that the news would reach every ear as quickly as it was made. When one bird hear it would hop to the very top of its try and make the call at the top of its lungs, and if another bird was to hear in the distance, it would do likewise. The forest grew so loud that Anna had to cover her ears, but she was smiling all the while for she knew what it meant. The Warming Dance was announced at last.

None was more gladdened than Hesiod in the assorted nest of four. He could not help but check upon the nest again and again to make sure that everything was perfect, only to spend another hour or so perfecting his dance and his song - although by then he was quite confident that it was at its very best. Little by little, birds gathered in great numbers by the great tree, waiting for the night to fall and for the sacred white blubs amid its leaves to open. All watched in great anticipation as the fragile petals began to spread, while the moon shone on them they seemed most ethereal to Anna, carrying an unspeakable godly beauty. The chirping and rustling of the feathered beings had subsided to mark the solemnity of the event. How beautiful and hallowed it was to behold. Each of these special flowers had four curving white petals and at center of gold, they seemed to her like lovely vessels of pearl. She yearned to touch them and smell them, even to drink from them. Psyche whispered to her of the Ambrosial Nectar, how when a bird finds his beloved, and the beloved accepts his most precious glistening stone, both descend to the bottom of the great tree where the white flowers grow and drink their sweetness to mark the joy of their union. Then, the bride would set down her pebble by the flower from which the couple had tasted as an offering of gratitude, laying it upon the earth which feeds the great tree. The two birds would then fly to their nest and consummate their love. Such was the ceremony of the Warming Dance.

Anna smiled to hear of the beauty of the ritual. Watching from afar with her two friends, she saw how birds would fly amid the spreading branches, filling the forest with beautiful voices and intricate dances. As time passed, more and more bird would swoop down to the bottom of the great tree and dip their beaks and small tongues to taste of the Ambrosial flowers. They would then fly away into the depths of the woods far from the multitude, and one less voice would be heard.

The young woman sought to find Hesiod among the birds but she could not find him among the soaring wings, she had focused her gaze mainly upon the cluster of revered white flowers and hoped to see him when he flew down with his mate. As she waited, she saw many beautiful birds, their eyes beaming with joy. Anna had never witnessed anything so beautiful. It filled her heart with unspeakable gladness.

She watched the glorious night unfold, sharing Psyche's excitement; the young half-bird perched on a branch beside her and covered Anna with her soft wing to keep her warm in the night air.

"I am so grateful that you took me here," she looked up at Psyche.

"I am glad that you are here," the other replied.

"I-I want to tell you something," Anna said with some nervousness, fearing that her words to come would sound uncertain.

"What do you wish to tell me?" Psyche turned her gaze from the great tree to look at her.

"I want to transform, I do," she strived to make her voice strong and firm to convey her wish properly.

"Oh Anna!" the winged-one exclaimed, "I am so happy! Never had there been such a wonderful night!"

"I would like to start tomorrow morning if I can," Anna smiled back at her, a slight pang of worry coming back to her.

"That can be done – it will be done!" the other assured her. "Oh Anna my dear friend, now truly we shall be sisters!"

"Your family has been so kind to me, I want nothing more," she bowed her head.

"I must tell Herodotus, and Hesiod if I can find him!" she said eagerly. "Where have they both gone?" at those words she suddenly took wing, leaving Anna on the branch by herself.

The young woman looked about her, wondering if she had made the right choice, so overwhelmed by the beauty of the ceremony and the sense of love and community which it presented. Truly she had never seen a place which so suited her nature, so at one with the forest. She waited for her friends to return, imaging the congratulations that the brothers would sing to her and also curious to meet Hesiod's beloved, if he had found her already. Anna hoped that what she had announced was appropriate on the sacred day, that it did not strive to overshadow the celebrations of love.

Anna rubbed her shoulders, trying to ward away the goose-bumps on her skin, for the night was growing colder and still none of her friends had returned to the branch where she had last seen them. Soon the singing began to ebb away and Anna could feel her eyes grow heavy with sleep, she could only guess at the lateness of the hour. Striving to fight away exhaustion, she tried to focus on following individual songs and the minute details in the coloration of the birds which perched nearby.

Suddenly, she heard a pair of wings and felt the branch on which she sat shake from added weight upon it. The young woman turned to see the fair-feathered Herodotus beside her.

"Hello!" she smiled at him.

"Hello Anna," he answered her with a shy smile. "Are you enjoying the celebration?"

"Yes! Very much so," she replied.

"Did Psyche leave you on your own?"

"She went to look for you and your brother, there is some news that we would like to share – I have decided that I would like to transform after all."

"That is amazing news! I am very happy for you, you will love it here I am sure," he smiled back at her.

"I believe I will," she nodded.

"When will you eat the first share of the grains?" he asked after a pause.

"Tomorrow."

"That is quite soon, well that is good."

Anna nodded bashfully.

"Are you nervous? Do not worry, many humans have gone through it," he tried to reassure her.

"I suppose you are right, but I am not entirely like—"

"It might be even better for you then, you might become a full bird," he did not wish for her to worry, especially not on a night of festivities. Yet in his own heart, there too were unsettled emotions.

Anna nodded again, hoping that she would not reveal her hesitation upon the next day.

A long silenced passed between them as they searched for what to say.

"When will your season come to drink from the Ambrosial flowers?" she spoke at last.

"Oh – w-well…I -," he stammered, blushing visibly. "I do not know if I will."

"Why not?" Anna was much surprised. "Is it common to refuse?"

"I do not know if you had sensed it but I found it loathsome when you asked me about my about the City, I never thought I would see it again," he began, his eyes darting to see that his sister was not near. "There are some things about it that I had once missed but it is a horrible place now, not like here. Yet not very long ago I had been called to return. I have to - I do not know when exactly, but surely it will be soon. I do not want you to tell the others however, they would be angry with me and perhaps they would even try to stop me. But you are not from here and I hope that you would not meddle – I tell you of it now because it weighs upon me to hold onto secrets from absolutely everyone and feel so utterly alone in this place. I have to tell someone, I hope that you do not mind that it is you and that you shall not betray me. Please – promise that you will tell no one of what I speak," he looked at her with a mixture of anger, fear, and hope. The young woman was frightened by the sudden change in him, she had not expected him to confide in her so.

"I promise," Anna's eyes were filled with pity for him, she felt much foreboding for what he would tell her.

…

Soon the coming of night swept away the sun and its warming light. The forest was filled with the beating of heavy wings and the familiar hooting of owls, although these sounds were recognizable to the two travelers, there were times when they doubted their memory and let their imagining take over, conjuring images of the ghouls of night. The air, too, grew cold and their clothing was not enough to keep in the warmth – were it not for the fire that they had lit, they were certain of freezing. Amphelios held his hands close to the flames and let the blaze warm his fingers, while the Founder held a skewer of mushrooms and potatoes to be heated up for a supper. These he accompanied with some salted pork which he kept for the very purpose of a long journey's meal, most often however, he tried to avoid eating too much of meat as it always filled him with great remorse and disgust to take a life of even a brutish animal. After he had lead one of his swine to the slaughter, he would be ashen faced for days, especially when another animal's gaze would meet his - even animals of other breeds, such as the goldfinch or the doe.

Although the fear may have been an unfounded one, he imagined that the animals of the forest had gazed upon the old butcher's deed and seen all, that the sparrows and mice had spread the word throughout the forest like a wildfire – as days passed each being, big and small, would have heard that their caretaker was a monster capable of the greatest cruelties. He was much ashamed of the cravings which led him to eat other foods than those which grew from the earth. Of this he spoke to the Keeper, who agreed with the humane spirit of the other man's anxieties but did his best to reassure him that the forest knew little of what he did, or else did not care to remember, perhaps it even forgave – as it is a well known matter that beasts prey upon beasts. Even dignified birds such the owl are a fearsome and merciless threat to the mice that live in the woods. And if one were to think of smaller birds that never tasted of blood, few are innocent of taking the lives of insects – which, although not endowed with beauty, but often its opposite, had as much claim to their lives. These arguments seemed reasonable and persuasive to the Founder but so far as to move him from his remorse, he knew that he could not forgive himself of taking more lives than what could be avoided, especially of the larger and more intelligent animals which knew what fear was.

"Do not fill your mind with brooding thoughts," the Keeper placed his hand on the other's shoulder.

"I am inconsolable," the elder man sighed.

"Try and sleep," said Amphelios, leading him away from the fire to the tent which they had made. The Founder was persuaded to lay down, having washed his face and changed his robes. Indeed the night was a cold one. As the old man prepared for his rest, his companion went to put out the fire and store their provisions. He feared that a wind might sweep fiery branches far from the pit and set the forest ablaze, although it was perhaps an unlikely fear he deiced not to take the chance. At the same time, he found the flames very beautiful, like a portal to a different world, and spent more time near them alone, simply watching their movement and the loveliness of the glowing embers. As well, he took some of the pork and ate a little so that by the karmic gesture he could join the Founder in his guilt and perhaps take a share of the other's burden.

When they awoke the next morning, there did not feel well rested but decided that it was best to continue the trek, as though by reaching the mountain, they would be blessed by an unknown force. It pleased them to know that there was a clear destination towards which to direct their efforts. With care, they disassembled the tent and readied the mules, wishing to waste no daylight.

However, as they moved onward, their steps were not as sprightly as they had been, but instead were as the trudging gait of slaves. Even the mules seemed to move slower than usual, perhaps merely wearied from the distance which they had already walked.

"I can see that there is still much sorrow in your expression," the Keeper spoke as they passed by a ravine, stooping down to drink of the fresh water.

"The birds have been coming less frequently to my garden and I worried for why that was, I thought it may have been due to the pigs and the poultry which they had seen me eat," the Founder answered him.

"There must be another reason, perhaps they have enough food nearer to their nests and so they need not venture as far now that it is summer," he tried to comfort him as before but felt apprehensive that it would be of no use.

"It is not only the birds – I have been thinking of the City. I had seen your wife in a dream and it appeared ominous to me. I believe she will be taken there soon, before we could reach her," he looked at the other gravely. "I debated within myself whether or not I ought to tell you, as there is nothing that we can do. I would have told you if a second omen had come, instructing us on whether or not we should venture the risk of returning in order to take her away or if she would find her path on her own. There is no reason to believe that she would come to any harm."

The Keeper was silent for a while, weighing the words which were spoken. "It is good that you have seen her, at least we have some sign of where she is and know that she is in our realm and living. Yet as you well imagine, I am concerned for her – the City has changed much since we had last laid eyes upon it. I do not know if we would be welcomed, or she. They are wary of visitors from the outside. The new regime has many of the evils of the last, but under a different banner. There are nuances, of course, and not knowing these will be a risk if we were to attempt to return without being recognized."

"Do you wish to abandon or search for the solitary being then and travel to the City?" the elder man asked him.

"I must think upon it more, we should not make the decision lightly," he said.

"Indeed," the Founder nodded wearily. "I will see if I can find out more about the City and who we could reach out to of our friends and allies that remain. It has been many years."

"Is there anything more that you could tell me of my wife?" asked Amphelios.

"Only that she is safe now and among kind folk, they are as the birds – I have never seen the like of them before. I do not know if their appearance is merely a symbolic representation or if they are truly so," answered the Founder.

"How did they appear to you?" he was much fascinated to hear of a new race in addition to his wife's whereabouts.

"As half human and half bird," was the other man's reply. "They lived in trees just as birds do and were capable of flight. Yet I do not know where such a place could be found – it seemed to be a vast forest with trees several times the size of those which surround us."

"I have not heard of such beings nor of such a forest before," remarked Amphelios. "Perhaps it is only a symbolic vision and not explicit truth."

"I am moved to think that it had been explicit, for I had eaten animal flesh the prior night and that binds my visions more closely to the spirits of this earthly realm and helps me avoid the errors of interpretation, better than herbs and fruits unfortunately. When there are urgent matters which I must cast for, I urge myself to do what must be done - especially for a friend who is in need of my aid. That too, was part of the reason why I acted disparagingly towards you during the previous day, speaking without wisdom or compassion, but as a petulant old man. A part of me was unhappy with the clashing of my conscience which your coming has brought into my heart – to eat my animals for the sake of finding your wife. But do not feel guilty for my sake; I would not have chosen otherwise if I could undo the past, please forgive my transgressions," the other bowed and Amphelios returned his bow as a sign of forgiveness, bending lower to signal his own fault in the matter. "Before you had gone to the tent," the Founder went on, "I had been conjuring the spell which I had spoken of, by the pig's flesh - I had planned to do so when we had first learned of your wife's disappearance in a vision in the cave. I had seen many clocks counting backwards and the Prime Chancellor a moment before you killed him. Anna and a man I did not recognize where moving towards us, as well as many others – but they were further away. I saw my old car go up in flames and a group of men pushing it to turn it over. There was an electric billboard for supplements from which sparks erupted – the people were full of rage."

Amphelios felt ill to hear him speak of it but he did not interrupt him, wishing to hear what he saw to the end.

"Another element which confused me was that I sensed, or thought I sensed, two or even three versions of your wife. They were all in the City. One was man-made entirely and had nothing of her spirit, the other was the Anna which was made of yourself and the spirit of a bird, and the last – it was the spirit of the bird entirely, but from a different realm in which it developed into a human-like aura. I am sorry, they must make no sense – these words which I speak. "

"A most vexing dream," the Keeper was concerned to hear of the vision, for it gave no sign as to what he ought to do and filled his mind with images of terrible things. If anything, it made the matter of finding his wife more complicated than before.

"What else did you see?" he urged him to continue.

"There is little more to tell," the older man lowered his head.

"We must return to the City," Amphelios spoke decidedly. "I know of a Deacon who will see to it that we travel in safety and discern what we can. I will contact him as soon as possible."

"I am in agreement with you," spoke the Founder.


	22. Chapter 22

Many days had passed since Amphelios had received a sign of his wife, during the night he lay awake with thoughts of her, wondering how long it would be until they were reunited after the strange happenings of the Queen's Moon Ceremony. Neither Anna nor the Queen had been seen again by the residents of the island. The regent's subjects had sent out her soldiers in search of her in the forests and in the waters surrounding the castle where she was last seen. Few had any recollection of the night, and those who remembered anything at all were deemed to be unfit to give a testimony – for they spoke of unnatural things which could not possibly be. Although the Queen was reputed to take a dilettante's interest in the black arts, her court made little of such rumors. They responded with the thought that, although the Queen had a naturally curious and capricious mind, surely she would not go against the precepts upon which their civilization was founded. Some less credulous folk believed that someone had meddled with the silver powder which was customarily sprinkled upon the faces of the guests to mark the beginning of the Moon Ceremony, for those who had arrived late to the ball by mischance, were the ones who gave the most vivid accounts of the night. As for the whereabouts of the Queen, they were but diversions in the Keeper's mind, they need not be mentioned further, nor were they spoken of during his sleepless discussions with the Founder that night. Instead, they were much occupied with the particulars of a certain spell which the Founder thought ill advised, but perhaps was the most expedient way of reaching Anna, in one form or another. After it had been decided that they would make the attempt of casting the spell, for better or worse, they considered how problematic it would be to collect the ingredients. Being where they were, in the depths of the forest near the mountains, they were in the most likely place to find what they needed, and this lifted their hopes and spirits a great deal.

"You must rest now, we need our strength for tomorrow and I am too weary to give consolation," the older man stared up at the stars, for they had decided to sleep with only the night sky as their roof. It was not a warm night but it had been long since they gave the stars and the moon their due attention.

"I will trouble you no further and am grateful for your help," the Keeper answered him, both of their gazes upon a distant star which seemed to have a shimmer of blue, if their eyes did not deceive them.

"It is no trouble, I need such troubles to keep my own mind occupied," the other smiled to himself.

"May your dreams be untroubled," Amphelios bid him goodnight and closed his eyes, opening them every so often to reassure himself of the stars and the moon.

"May yours be likewise," replied the Founder.

The next morning they awoke naturally by the light of the sun's rays, it was not as early an hour as what they were used to for the start of their day, but they decided it would be acceptable to sleep longer, their reason being that they expected to sleep few hours that night, if any. When they had washed and readied a breakfast of fruit they sat down to eat, speaking at length of where the best locations were to search for the necessary herbs. When their stomachs were satiated, they took two satchels with cutting knifes and glass vials and at last set to their work, one man walking to the East and the other to the West to cover a more diverse area. Their work thus divided, they agreed to meet at their camp at sunset and examine whether or not they were successful in their search, if between them they had enough of each ingredient to make their attempt that night.

As they walked, they would have felt a great sense of solitude were it not for the singing of the birds. They would have imagined that the forest had a grave and forbidding ambiance about it, where the trees grew thickly and no footsteps had ever been laid down upon the earth. Wild grasses and brambles grew thickly and only beasts and insects made their abodes in such places, there was many a time when Amphelios thought that he had lost his way, for it was only possible for the Founder to give vague instructions as to the direction in which he must go.

At one point in his journey he was most fortunate to find a swamp, its murky waters providing a bounty of leeches. To gather them, he would waded in with his bare legs and waited until they attached to his skin to drink of his life substance, for they had not a taste for blood but rather for the numbered days of a man's life. Thus, to eat them was most beneficial to one who is weary with age and could be almost certain to save him from his deathbed. Such locations were great sought out by all sorts of dubious characters who used the leeches selfishly and in excess until not a single one remained in the muddy waters.

Amphelios was careful not to wait too long to remove the creatures, using the heat of a candle to get them off of his skin and into the glass vials which he had ready. They had to be nourished to a degree but not so much as to be bloated with life. But a week per dozen leeches would suffice for the spell. One can well imagine that it was a most unpleasant matter to collect this ingredient in comparison to the rest, which were mainly assortments of flowers and mushrooms which he had been taught to recognize by sight and smell.

At sunset, the two men found one another at the camp.

"Burdock, wormwood, cedar, hawthorn, foxglove, chamomile, horehound…" the Founder could be heard murmuring and listing the names to himself as the two men laid out the contents of their satchels upon a cloth spread out upon the grass. They knelt down beside the pile of greens and glass vials with a sense of satisfaction, for if they did not have everything they needed, they were at least very close and would be able to gather the remainder by nightfall. And so it was, that but a few ingredients were missing and these they searched for together, their meticulous eyes scanning the earth by every tree root, stone, and shrub that they happened to walk by.

When at last all was ready, they returned to their camp again, where their tethered mules still waited for them. These they fed, as well as their own stomachs, with a mixture of hot porridge. After the hurried meal, they set to work by the light of the candles within their sackcloth tent. Upon a piece of wood which they used as a cutting board, they extracted the juices of various berries and insects, creating a most unsavory concoction which was later poured into a large glass beaker. Leaves, petals, and grains were pressed into a poultice using a mortar and pestle which the Founder had brought for the purpose of replenishing his reserves with ready-made blends. He imagined that he would have much idle time in the evenings during their journey; however this was not so given their plans for reaching Anna that very night.

After all had been blended, they had but a single bowl of what appeared to be a grainy black paste with a strong fragrance of spices, with herbs such as star anise overpowering the other more subtle flavors. Yet such properties were entirely secondary to their purpose, for they were hardly the makings of a palatable dish, lest one fancied toad entrails and crushed beetles. The Founder made a series of notes upon parchment in preparation for casting the spell, as an aid for marking the runes and making sure that his memory or his nerves would not give way during the critical moment of speaking the correct verses. The process would be a long one, taking between one and two hours, given all of the factors involved.

Their remained but one more strenuous step in the preparations, and that was to dig a trench, or rather, a Mirror, so the texts termed it. They searched about for a clearing of grass, which they could only hope did not have many stones and roots to dig out, and got to work with their shovels, removing the earth with what was left of their energy after walking for most of the day. Neither one had particularly strong arms fit for digging a hole large enough to burry a man in, but such was what was needed and took about an hour with the two of them working together to chop at the many roots which interfered. They felt sorry for having to damage to the trees but Amphelios believed that time was of the essence and that they should not let another day go by without reaching his wife if it could be helped, given the ominous nature of the Founder's dream. Once the trench was dug, it had to be filled with water so that it would reflect the moon. This too was done, using buckets which they carried filled from a nearby lake. After this was completed, their arms were ready to give way, so sore and tired they were from the day's work.

When they were ready to begin the reading of the verses, the poultice which they had mixed earlier was stirred into the water in the trench with a fallen branch for a ladle. Afterwards, the Keeper undressed and laid down in the odious bath. It was frightfully cold and by then it was quite dark, for night had fallen by the time all of the preparations had been made. He closed his eyes and tried to keep himself from shivering too much while he listened to the voice of the Founder speaking the verses in an unusually raspy voice. There were three rows of candles arranged all around the trench, their flames glowing red. They could see by no other light but of the moon reflected upon the water, as was necessary.

Midway through the verses, the Founder removed a serpent from the pocket of his cloak. It was thin and white like alabaster, with a slight hue of blue about its scales. It seemed to be at ease in the man's hands, as though it well knew its master or companion and felt quite untroubled when it was lowered into down into the trench. It swam through the dark waters until it reached the Keeper's throat, wreathing around his neck, and climbed higher still up to his forehead where it coiled into a white-blue disk. At that point, no more signs of life could be felt from Amphelios when the Founder reached down through the water to feel his pulse, his body had grown very cold and he could see that the other no longer struggled for breath. His skin appeared to have a pale bluish hue just as that of the snake. However, the Founder did not cease in chanting the verses, for doing so could prove quite fatal not only in semblance but also in reality – as long as no errors were made in carrying out the spell, one could assume that no harm would come to his companion and in time he would recover from the toll it had on the body.

The Founder's voice resounded until his throat grew quite hoarse from the chant. Upon the utterance of the final verse, a movement could be seen by the sudden rippling of the water – the serpent which had been as still as the man suddenly opened its jaws and began to swallow its own tail.

However, the size of the disk the coiled snake made as it rested on the man's forehead appeared to grow no smaller or larger, for the serpent would grow in length as quickly as it swallowed its tail – doing so endlessly. The Founder watched with somber eyes, knowing that his work had been done and wondering how long it would take before his companion awoke from the world in which he had been cast. He could only hope that his skills and training availed him.

Stooping over the dark waters, he gazed at the pale face which saw him not.

…

"Come with me then, I do not wish for us to be heard by the others," Herodotus said in a low voice, leaning close to Anna's ear with some embarrassment.

"Where shall we go?" she asked him, feeling hesitant. It was very late and she felt weary; it was only her fear that kept her awake, for in the fair-haired youth's voice there was much urgency.

"I will take you, are your arms strong?" he asked her.

"I-I'm not sure," she looked about them at the other birds that still remained.

"No, that is probably not a good idea," he shook his head suddenly, "I had imagined that you would hold onto my feet while I fly but that is likely too difficult – when I was a human I do not think I could have held on for that long. Perhaps you could climb onto my back; hopefully I can still fly then."

"We could try it near the ground first and see if it works," Anna would have much enjoyed such a flight if only the circumstances were different. In either case, she assented to make a trial of the flight experiment.

"Let us try then," he nodded and went down the wooden steps which spiraled around their tree, Anna following closely behind him. These had been constructed especially for the humans who were still transitioning into their winged state so that they would be able to attend the assemblies of the birds and half-birds. The winged-ones would accompany them on foot to get to the great tree by various trials leading from every direction where the nesting districts swere clustered. Some trees would have a simple vine to climb up and down on while others had beautiful wooden staircases.

When the two companions were on the soft grass at last, they attempted a short flight, and finding it successful, Herodotus was eventually able to convince Anna to join him on the full journey to the place which he had thought to take her to, still remaining vague about its exact whereabouts. Whether out of secretiveness or due the difficulty of describing a place so much like many other places in a large forest, the truth was a mixture of both.

While they were in the air, the young woman held on tightly to his soft golden-hued feathers, sometimes burying her face in them for comfort and warmth. She had such a muddle of feelings when it came to their adventure, Anna could only hope that what Herodotus had to tell her would not change the idyllic life which they had lived thus far. She thought also of her husband, wondering where he was and if he was thinking of her also. It was certainly a paradise for her, to live among such kind and beautiful beings in a world where nature surrounded them, she wished that he could see it one day and perhaps even join her there, starting a new life together amid the winged-ones. It would be difficult for her to go back to the White Castle after all that she had seen and experienced. She hoped deeply that he could be persuaded – if she would ever see him again that is. A pang of melancholy swept over her in that instant but she strived to brush it away, in the depth of her heart she felt his presence and knew that he was still alive. She believed that he was searching for her and that soon they would be reunited, for two halves cannot be long apart.

"W-when I lived in the City I had worked with my father after I had graduated from the Institute," Anna was surprised by the voice of Herodotus, thus far their long flight had been a silent one. She had grown so distracted by her own thoughts and the view of the forest from above that for a time she was able to let her mind drift from the confession which was to come from her winged friend.

"The Institute is a school," he went on, "the only worthwhile school in the City, in this entire realm some people would say. All the knowledge of the world is accumulated there and taught by traditional means as well as by Implantation. Implantation is when strands or even bunches of special neurons are injected into the brain with vast amounts of knowledge that would have taken one many years to acquire by traditional means. The strands are fit into the right places by nano-bots, which look like tiny spiders under a microscope. They have miniature scalpels and all sorts of other instruments hidden within their bodies, one can say that they cut and glue the knowledge where it is needed – it is a much more efficient way of learning, but it does take a long time to write the information into the blank brain cells which are implanted.

Usually if there is a type of knowledge that is required or desired frequently by many people, they produce it in large batches - think of it like vintages of wine. Some Implantations are quite rare and are kept deep in the Institute archives. The information in the archives is often out-dated but they keep it for its historical value, sometimes I would go there during my leisure hours just out of curiosity – when I lived in the City. Most of standard Implantations can be purchased easily and cheaply because of the high demand, but my father would not recommend certain editions of it, especially those that had not been revised since the 147th Chancellor's reign. They have a lot of "filler", propaganda if you will. That sort of meddling is strictly forbidden now but those who can afford it buy from specialists instead of the government just to be on the safe side. The Institute is operated by the government but the Professors care deeply about their work and would make sure the populace knows if something immoral is happening. W-well… there have been cases when Professors would be removed, suddenly and without reason so it seemed – but it has been many years since the last of such cases and -"

"That is very interesting and very strange, I think I prefer the forest however," Anna did not quite know what to say, it was indeed fascinating but she did not know why she was being told of such matters and thought it would be best to ask him right away about the direction where he was leading her. Her chief desire was that he would not ask her to go there. "You must tell me, if only to put the worry out of my mind - are you thinking of implanting information into my brain in that way? I do not know if I am ready for that – especially in the middle of the night. No, not ever actually," she hoped that she did not offend or disappoint him, but in truth the procedure sounded rather frightful to her, she did not want someone to add knowledge into her brain without knowing exactly what they were putting in. Perhaps it was even painful – she thought of how they would probably have to go through the skull, or maybe through the ear. Moreover, the young woman could see so many opportunities to do harm by one who is either malevolent or inept.

"No, no! You misunderstand my ways entirely!" Herodotus laughed lightly. "I was only sharing, so you could learn more about the City and see that there are so many other worlds than just this one here. I feel it is my duty to broaden your horizons, for you have told me how little you have seen of the realms outside of the White Castle. Well, actually – that may not be the only reason why I told you, for I do not wish to appear more noble than I am and thus deceive you. In truth, I am nervous and it is calming to talk to you. I hope that you do not mind my rambling, I feel at ease to share factual things with people that have little or no bearing upon the present, or…perhaps they do, but not in any direct way which comes to my mind presently. My father did teach me about Implantations but that was not really the focus of our work together. Would you like me to go on? I do not wish to bore you or worse yet, frighten you. We are almost there, in any case."

"Oh," Anna was not sure how to answer the half-bird, she supposed it was good that she could calm him even somewhat. "What work did you focus on?"

"I will show you," he swooped down suddenly and Anna had to hold on tightly for her dear life as they descended towards a vast field.

"You should give me a warning next time," she said playfully, in truth she enjoyed feeling the wind rushing through her hair as they soared through the air.

When the winged-one's feet touched the ground at last, Anna eagerly hopped off. At that point in the night she found it strange that her body felt more awake than it did an hour or so ago, perhaps it was a certain rush of adrenaline which made it so. She watched as Herodotus clawed at a clump of dead water-reeds to uncover a soft patch of earth. He continued digging for several minutes until he uncovered a large metallic chest. It did not look like the craft of the winged-ones but more like something Psyche would haul home, if only her small wings allowed her. It took them both considerable effort to lift it out of the ground but when they did Anna could not help but feel anxious to see what was inside—her stomach churning, Herodotus looked happy and relaxed again and his kind expression helped to comfort her somewhat as well. Everything will be okay, she thought to herself.

"Open the lid, if you are brave," he smirked at her teasingly.

"What is it?" she asked, not sure if she ought.

"Do not worry, it will not jump out at you or explode. It would ruin the surprise if I told you," he gave her an encouraging push forward with his wing.

"Alright," she knelt down beside the box and slowly lifted up the lid.

Suddenly, three glowing orbs rose from the box and floated around them. Not only did they emanate light but also a significant amount of heat, so much so that the two friends had to stand back lest they got burned.

"I thought you said nothing would jump out at me," Anna looked between him and the orbs, she found them exceedingly beautiful, not at all what she had expected.

"That is peculiar, I could have sworn that I turned them off last time I was here – it is alright though, no one was burnt and that is the main thing. What do they remind you of?" he gazed at her and the orbs with much pleasure in his eyes.

"I-I do not know, fireflies, floating embers?" she ventured a few guesses.

"No, not those - well sort of, yes I suppose they could be, but I had hoped you would say suns," explained Herodotus.

"Yes, they do look like little suns I suppose," Anna smiled, "They are very hot."

"They certainly are, be careful not to let them touch you," he suddenly spread his wing to keep her back.

"I am not as foolish as that," answered Anna, although it was endearing to see that he was being protective of her.

"I did not mean it like that, they are quite unstable – that is to say, they are not perfect. There used to be seven but four exploded you see. Here are the pieces, right over – Ouch!" he burnt his bird-like foot, which he used much as a hand, on the hot edge of the metal box. It still emanated searing heat from the orbs which had been inside of it not too long ago.

"Are you okay?" asked Anna with concern, leaning closer to examine the burn.

"You must think I am a great fool," he hopped away on his uninjured foot while hiding his face with his wings, all the while trying to hold back tears of pain, partially from the burn and partially from the stress and embarrassment the moment held for him.

"Please do not worry, I only thought that you were naturally over-excited to show me your work and be assured that everyone has little mishaps of that sort from time to time - please Herodotus, do not worry about what I think of you," she stroked his wing gently. "I think that you have been very kind to me. You are a dear friend."

"It is you who are very kind," he looked at her with an affectionate smile. "Oh Anna, I wish you were not married."

Anna felt quite uncomfortable to hear him speak those words, she had wondered at times if there was not something more in the way that he looked at her.

"But I am, Herodotus," she turned her gaze away from him in shyness, Anna deeply wished that she could still be his friend and not injure his heart, she could only hope that was still possible. "T-the suns are very beautiful, did you make them?" she ventured to ask, truly curious but also in an effort to decrease the tension of the moment.

"Yes – I mean no, not entirely by myself," he could guess at what she wanted by her question and decided not to press the matter further, if he could help it. Herodotus regretted his rash words. "My father and I had worked on these prototypes for many years – these artificial suns. I do not know how to tell you this, I do not know if you would believe me, but the Chancellors of the City have known for a while now that the sun of his realm are not in a good state and will quite possibly die in less than ten years. Moreover, we do not have enough energy sources to keep our people alive for long if that happens. Everything will die Anna," he said, his words sounded so implausible to his own ears, as though they carried almost no meaning. For how could one imagine that one day there would be nothingness, a world absent of life? "These artificial suns, they feed on a different type of energy than fireplaces and cars, I do not wish to tell you how they work though because I worry that you would be angry with us, with my father and I. I received a letter from him recently saying that he has progressed far since these small orbs, that the Chairman of Energy has given him grant after grant and they have already completed two large scale models which are fully stable – that is to say, they will not explode.

There is the matter of fueling them however, the Chairmen that disappeared did so not long after the vote was held to decide upon such a question. Only one of them voted against my father's proposal, but then why did three disappear, and not just the one? Usually questions of a similar importance would have to be put to the populace but due to the nature of the question, it is understandable that it could not be asked, some people would be quite horrified – also, they hope to do what they need to do in a way that it would be hidden for as long as possible. I am sorry to speak in such a horribly vague way, to say much while revealing little. In truth, I am not allowed to tell you any of the things that I told you, but I had to tell someone you see. It was driving me mad to keep silent for as long as this! It goes against all that the elders would teach us. D-do you understand? I also suspect that your husband knows of it too, based on what you told me of him. We will see however. I must be rambling incomprehensibly again -"

"But why do you tell me these things and not your family or one of the elders, someone who is closer to you?" she asked, quite incredulous at what she had just been told. It seemed to her that he was spewing prophecies of a doomsday and that was hardly easy for her to take in at once. She did not know whether to believe him. It was not that she thought him a liar, but more as one who had been deceived. Then again, what basis had she to weigh the truth when she hardly knew the limitations of the realm?

"I cannot tell them Anna, they would be angry if they knew that I was still speaking to our father – at least my brother would be," he confessed. "I need you to tell me something, do you know if the other Chancellors are still alive?" he asked abruptly.

"W-what? No, I have no idea about them or any of this," she was growing somewhat irritable, likely because of the headache that she was suffering from or the late hour or even her hunger. The young woman did not feel well at all and did not wish to be bombarded with so much dire news all at once. It all began to sound like madness to her, she wanted nothing more than to return to their warm nest and forget the glowing orbs altogether. However, she feared that to do such a thing may not be possible, for how would her relations change with Herodotus after their late night excursion, and what would his family think when they realize they had been gone for so long. She did not have to wait long to receive her answer.

Herodotus neither saw nor heard his brother; so soundlessly had he listened, perched upon a neighboring branch obscured by foliage. While the golden-winged one first spoke to Anna of his festering secrets another ear listened close by. His russet feathers blended with the bark of the tree and were more so obscured by the darkness of the night. Hesiod had listened long and attentively, for long had he suspected a change in his brother's usually cheerful disposition, changed to one of foreboding. Never had the fair-haired youth been so prone to solitary brooding, and when he refused to speak of the reason behind his day-long departures, Hesiod could not help but grow worried. At first he believed that the other had found himself a beloved outside of the sacredness of the annual ceremony and was visiting her nest in secret, lest shame should befall his or her family, yet there were none of the usual signs which ought to accompany one who is in love. When Hesiod had resolved to follow him, a most unpleasant deed for him as all cunning and craft for were vile to the half-birds. So few secrets he had believed his family kept from one another – it troubled him deeply that his faith was not soundly placed.

"Brother," both Anna and her companion were startled by the voice that addressed them through the rustling of parting reeds. "You have wronged me – I had feared it was so, yet did not wish to believe that you, you who had claimed such contempt for the City and father's ways - that now you plot to return there and leave our home and our wise elders behind for the hypocrites that are the Chancellors. Do you not find it grotesque to the body and mind to be one with such people and such a place? Have you not had enough?"

"Can you truly speak to me with such haughtiness and twist my motives so wickedly?" Herodotus turned sharply and imitated the other's portentous tone. "You are a self-righteous one, brother, who turns his back on his family to live in a paradise, free of cares, while the souls and bodies of your people wither away. Truly, you are a noble one".

"Hatchling!" he felt his own anger rise as he beheld his younger brother's contemptuous gaze. "They are not my people, when I left the City behind I did so in earnest, yet your loyalties still lie elsewhere."

"What drivel! You speak as though you were on a stage, imitating heroes and do not recognize yourself for a coward. It is easy to hide behind lofty ideals and ignore a crumbling world, when your own is so lovely and distracting," Herodotus glanced towards Anna, abashed that she should hear them exchange harsh words.

"You can do nothing for them," Hesiod said in a firm voice, hiding the guilt with which his brother struck him.

"It has been long since I had worked with our father but my knowledge from the Institute and his teachings still remain with me. I still wonder if there is a way, other than to simply hide our heads under our wings and feign ignorance," Herodotus answered him.

"What is your plan then? It sounds as though you must have one," he asked, his tone was haughty yet his interest was genuine.

"I will return to the City and help father to complete the three suns that are needed, I can think of no other way," he turned his gaze away as he spoke, for a part of him was ashamed.

His brother grit his teeth but said nothing. For a long time they stood in silence, their hostility and fear creating a barrier between them. Anna felt much discomfort to stand by and watch the two brothers seething in anger.

At last, Hesiod took a deep breath and addressed Herodotus. "Brother, how much have you told her?" he asked the other.

"I told her of what we both fear," he answered.

"Have you told her why we fear? Why the sun is not but an orb of light like these playthings?" he shot a glance towards the models that floated about them, creating a dull buzzing as insects do from the whizzing machinery inside of them.

"No, I –"

"I will tell her then," Hesiod interrupted him, turning to Anna, "our sun is not like the suns of most other realms. It is not just a source of light and warmth, but our afterlife too. The souls of the dead and the enlightened gather there. When our bodies decay and are no more, the spirit is all that is left of us. Usually the spirit cannot be seen, but in the precious moments between life and death some will see a light escaping, that is all that could ever be seen of one's true essence. Yet the people of the City, many of whom claim to be enlightened, have failed to foresee the effects of prolonging life for generation after generation, taking pride in their control and supremacy over reincarnation. Some of those who live in private versions of paradise within the City believe that they have truly found the highest realm and look down upon the poor as those whose souls are rooted in evil. Some of the people who dwell there have existed for hundreds if not thousands of years and thus have corrupted the natural balance of this realm. The flow of souls no longer courses as it should and so those who are aware of this change are most fearful for the future. Not all are however - perhaps my brother and my father do not fully grasp this, or else are incredulous - but the elders of the birds know, understand, and accept. I have faith that they will soon hold a gathering and tell us how to prepare our souls for the crumbling of the afterworld, but if they do not, they have reason and honor in their ways, and my faith in them remains."

Anna watched as tears gathered in the eyes of Hesiod while he spoke, she trembled, knowing not if it was but for the billowing of the wind.


	23. Chapter 23

Meanwhile, in an alley-way of the City, a bulky creature was crouching amidst metallic bins of rubbish, sifting through them with his large hands. He pulled on one of many sacks, heaving its bulky weight out of the bin and spilling the contents onto the concrete. Upon his knees, he set to work, breathing only from his mouth so that the foul stench would not seep into his nostrils. His worn woolen tunic was mired by many a stain and the knees of his trousers were close to tearing as he bended over the pile of trash. His eyes scanned it over with care, separating bones and hooves into one sack, pieces of glass and plastic into another. Then there were precious objects which would not fit into either bunch; sometimes he would happen upon old clothing, expired medication, or broken electronics. These were the makings of an auspicious day. From time to time, he would look over his shoulder surreptitiously for fear that someone was watching him, yet it was rare that anyone walked into or even looked at the dark alley-way, for it was far from inviting. Furthermore, the being's appearance was enough to deter even a fellow vagrant, some would go so far as to say that he was no longer a human at all but an intermediary stage between man and beast, a marvel to behold but one which did not fail to repulse the eye. His anxious green eyes winced whenever he happened to see his own self reflection in a puddle of filth water, the shard of a broken mirror, or in the surface of a polished scrap of metal. Only one of his eyes was able to see clearly, for the lid of the other had been deformed into a swollen-state since birth.

However, it was the great mass of his hunched back and the strangeness of his nostrils which first struck strangers as the marks of his monstrosity, furthermore, the being was far taller than most men and its arms seemed strong enough to lift a horse into the air, so it was no wonder that few but those who knew him would venture to cross his path. If a brave spirit were to linger long enough he may well take notice that on one hand, he had but four fingers and his hair was of a ruddy hue, falling in messy strands over his face.

This being was named Hephaestus, although by whom the name was given to him had never been known by him, or else was long forgotten. He was not a free man, for a man he was, in all his hideousness. Hephaestus was one of several slaves owned by Telamacus, a wily, if not unscrupulous, merchant who dealt in the business of selling sorted scrap material to the manufacturing plants in his district. His region was one that was less developed and therefore not well regulated by the government - for the crime rates were so high that few officials were partial to be stationed there. Needless to say, it was the sort of place that can be found in many a booming civilization, where one went for all manner of otherwise restricted dealings; helping create its allure for some and its repulsion for others.

Most often, Hephaestus worked alone. It was common that teams of salves belonging to the same merchant would be sent to search through garbage in groups, each assigned to their own alleyways, but as a show of either fear or contempt, they shunned the deformed being. Those who did not shun him were the most merciless of their folk, showering him with abuses both in words and in actions.

They relished how the large beastly creature would not so much as utter a retort or even attempt an attack, rather it hunched its back further and tried to avoid the blows of the garbage which they tossed at him for the sake of cruel amusement. They listened closely to hear if he might mutter an insult, or even a grunt, for many believed that he lacked the faculty of language, yet he remained silent as the grave. Nor would his gaze betray signs of anger or hatred, so complacent he was with his fate. In his mind, so in contrast to his brutish frame, he was certain of the punishments which were owed to him - they were his due and his inheritance for his deformity. He reasoned that it was not by chance that each man and woman were born with the natural instinct to scorn him, it was the very aura of him that was sickly and they sensed it radiating from his being, a source of evils untold.

He believed that the potential for wrong was strong within him and predestined, that as he grew older his days drew nearer to the Unforgivable Sin – so mysterious to him that he was almost in awe of what shape it would take, yet he sensed its coming, an absolute truth. Since his inception, he was to become the slave of evil, a malice far greater than the covetous and ruthless nature of his old master. He knew that his nature was to obey and serve devoutly, in blind obedience to his destiny, with each step drawing closer to his ultimate end: a fate predetermined by the divinities and written upon his malformed visage, a painting of sin.

With each stone that was cast upon him by a vulgar hand, a part of his soul rejoiced, for he saw his debt from providence being lightened by the blow, some tenuous fragment being shifted from one end of the scales to the other. At times his mind feigned to perceive improvements in his appearance after such blows; a certain beauty within the shade of his iris, an elegance in the veins of his arm.

These thoughts and words were the faith that his master had taught him since a young age. Telamacus was much pleased by the being's submissiveness and wished to keep him thus, knowing him to be a strong and reliable worker, and not prone to the pastimes of the other slaves, who would idle in drink and waste away in brothels, returning the next morning unfit for work. They would oft receive a whipping but this did not seem to deter them significantly, for in their line of work pleasures were so few that they were willing to accept another dollop of pain as the price for a crude delight. As for Hephaestus, he was much suspicious of the pursuit of happiness, as the more one has of a certain pleasure, the more he grows used to it; the outcome would be either that he becomes tired of the joy and derives no more pleasure from it, or else grows dependant on having it, as a necessity of ordinary life, and thus becomes a slave to it. Few had the strength within them to taste delight and desire no more, to be content to have it when it is granted, but be no worse in its absence, to not pine for it, nor be hurt by its loss.

What a distraction it was from the debts that must be paid, for each man had a spirit counting above him, an invisible being, and in a person's physical form the proportion of the debt could easily be seen by others. Some would strive to alter their bodies by surgeries and the like, but such was of no use, for fate's spirits could hardly be deceived by base trickery. Sometimes, the spirits would send illness upon those who attempted such means, so that the state of their soul would once again be reflected in the divine truth of their physical form – withering or bloating their bodies, as need be, covering them in scourges of blisters, boils, and cancers.

In his formative years, Hephaestus recalled the image of walking by his master's side through the Alleyway of Lepers. He could smell the tobacco of Telamacus's cigarette mingling with the stench of vomit and urine. The weight of a sack of protein cans was heavy upon his back; every few paces, his old master would stop by a skeletal form obscured by rags and filth, stooping over it with a salesman's toothy smile and muttering a few hoarse words. Most would shake their head, for they had nothing left to barter while they awaited their final day.

Hephaestus remembered one figure distinctly, reaching under the torn plastic sheet upon which he sat and placing piece of bronze into Telamacus's hand with the solemnity of a desperate man. The master smiled a little ruefully but whether in pity or resignation to his own meager prospects, gave up one of the cans for the offered fee. The malformed youth set down the sack and with a shaking hand, held out a can. The leper grasped it with the hunger of a feral being, wasting no unnecessary moment in pulling off its tin lid and pouring the gooey flavorless mass down his dry throat until he began to cough and choke, throwing up some of the precious sustenance onto the ground. He could see the lanky figure of Telamacus already at a distance, trotting his way through the clients of the alley in a systematic fashion. Young Hephaestus averted his eyes and made after him, the cans clattering together in the sack as he ran. He ran as though he were chased by hounds.

The memory never left him, he saw then that the merchant's words were true – for how could good honorable men be allowed to fall to such hideousness and decay? Surely this was less painful to believe than that the universe was lacking in justice and that one's life and pain served no end, humanity's fate being a series of senseless accidents. His child's brain did not weigh the logic of either view nor ponder on life and purpose, but rather, absorbed them by an instinct, an intuition which would permeate through his being to be carried with him until his final day.

…

The two brothers accompanied Anna back to the nest where Psyche waited for them anxiously. When they flew through the entrance she darted to them and nuzzled Anna's cheek in great relief.

"Where have you all been?" she exclaimed, her eyes darting between Hesiod to Herodotus. She did not fail to see the signs of a troubled conscience upon their faces.

"Herodotus had decided tonight was the best night to take Anna to see some examples of our father's work, for the wonders of the Warming Dance fail to capture his interests," the brother said with derision, a part of him regretting the harshness of his manner towards the fair-haired youth, but his anger was beyond restraint, for the lateness of the hour had enfeebled his better senses. It was only by a prolonged silence that his mind allowed itself to search for other emotions.

"Let us forgive him for his impudence," the elder brother spoke at last, averting his eyes from the dark expression of the youth and the timorous frame of their sister, "he is young and thus prone to err. In time perhaps he shall see the worth of what we have and show greater gratitude to the birds who had nurtured his spirit after being long imbued with the corruption and spiritual grayness of the City. May its grayness not penetrate too deeply into his soul to make him fretful and yearn to leave us before his time."

He did not know if he believed his own words, but they felt to him more honorable than the wrath against which he struggled. The elders urged all of their flock to be wary of such poisons. Perhaps in time his own thoughts would follow the spirit of his deeds, yet in the moment, right action was all that he could muster. Certainly, there had been many times when he would do rightly in obedience to a higher wisdom, an act of faith, in hope that in time the other parts of his being would be in accord.

"What do you speak of brother?" Psyche greatly disliked moralizing and was too tired from searching for her friends to bear it for long, she imagined that Anna felt much the same and sought to put an end to her brother's babble. "Let the poor girl rest! All speeches and interrogations absolutely must be put off for tomorrow, shall we agree to that? Well, all questions but one," she smirked, turning to Hesiod, "where is your beloved? Surely you will tell us, at least one thing about her, anything – her name, the color of her feathers, which part of the forest she lives in –"

"I was too busy watching over scheming Herodotus to take part in the dance," he replied bitterly, his rage flaring up within him again, like a pile of embers that were still hot - too recently and not so thoroughly quenched when last they were lighted. He thought bitterly of all the days they had spent in preparation.

"All for naught!" he turned upon his brother. "The flowers will wither and we must wait another year," he then held his breath for a moment so as to calm himself as much as he could, his head throbbing with sickly emotions. The winged-one wondered why he had been so protective over his brother, after all, he was old enough to choose his own path and to try and stand in his way would only cause strife between them. He could well imagine Herodotus sneaking out of the nest in the middle of the night on all manner of errands, ultimately returning to the City. It was the latter which he dreaded most, for a part of him feared the meaning it would hold for him – that the peace offered by the community of birds was not enough for his brother.

The young half-bird saw it to be a cowardly thing, to turn away from what one believes cannot be altered, but surely there is greater wisdom in knowing the limits of forbearance. It was by a mutual choice that they had agreed to leave the declining City behind, no longer being able to bear its multitude of faults and oppressions. Although its memory would not cease to haunt them, they absence of its towering walls before their eyes made such memories less painfully poignant. No longer would malignant speeches ring in their ears from self-appointed tyrants, nor would they see the pitiful state of the deluded and the down-trodden amid the glimmering lights. Over time, the contrast between the forest and the City had grown sharper, as manifestations of Good and Evil, a Heaven and Hell; it brought to mind his father's old words, to be wary of childish absolutes, for in reality few things could be so neatly sorted into their compartments. It is as difficult to find a thoroughly evil man as it is to find one who is wholly good.

Yet these proverbs and memories offered no guidance as to how he might mend the rifts in his family. He was certain that Herodotus struggled impotently - he would rather beat his wings until he had no more strength left in hopes of changing what is fated. These were the thoughts which raced through the elder brother's mind as he fixed his searching gaze upon Herodotus. In turn, the young brother did not look back at him with any sign of remorse, but rather with harsh defiance.

"No no! How could you - how could you have wasted your special day on silly Herodotus?" Psyche's wailing voice struck their ears and interrupted the standoff.

Her heart was sinking, for she had been so involved in the preparations that she saw it as her own failure as well. "What does it matter if he plays with father's old brick-a-brack, I mean it hardly even works! Oh Hesiod, you did such a stupid thing tonight, to spy on him and miss meeting your beloved. What if she is with another bird now? What if you lost your soulmate to another bird?" Psyche worked her emotions into a flurry of panic.

"Do not speak to me in such a way Psyche, do not dare call me a fool when you yourself are playing with fire and will only realize it when you get burned," Hesiod spread his wings and gestured to the piles of City scraps occupying the perimeters of the bower. "It is that way with all hatchlings, they never listen. Well then, let experience teach them. Lacking in prudence, you both deem yourself wiser than I – so do as you please! I have no more patience for either of you!" he became overwhelmed with his emotions, through his mind there waltzed images of his brother's departure from the nest and a beautiful bird taking flight with another.

"If my soulmate takes another, then she was never my soulmate," he answered firmly yet with a stinging heart. "There will be other Warming Dances, it is not the blessing of every bird to find their mate during their very first dance. Now go to bed, all of you. I am sorry, Anna that you had to bear witness to our arguments. As you can imagine, every family has its rifts. I have taken the role of father in this nest and must watch over Herodotus and Psyche so that they do not come to harm, it is most difficult as they are a rebellious lot. Please be careful next time if either one of them wishes to take you on a so-called adventure."

"You speak of us as though we were not here!" Psyche hopped and beat her wings in frustration. "We are not that young and you are not our father! In a few years I may well have a nest of my own."

"I would have been shocked if you did not say so," Hesiod sighed, walking past them with a bow towards Anna. He made his way to his side of the nest and hid his head under a wing as though in sleep.

"Come Psyche, there is no use in arguing with him. He would never see us otherwise and we need not listen to him," Herodotus comforted her. "He reviles all that is connected with the City because he is scared that he made a mistake by leaving; that is what I believe in any case. Now shall we sleep?"

"Yes – I am incredibly tired, I never stay up this late!" she puffed out her feathers and closed her eyes, not bothering to go to her usual sleeping spot. Suddenly, she opened one eye again and said, "No more talking! Promise that you will not argue," she murmured but received no reply but a smirk from Herodotus.

By then, all of the winged-ones were in the midst of trying to fall asleep, some with greater success than others. Anna followed their example and resolve to get as much sleep as she could before the sun rose again. She quickly changed out of her robe and laid down, stifling a yawn as she pulled a somewhat itchy blanket over herself. It was hard for her not to think about all that had happened that day, it felt almost like a dream. The young woman wondered if Herodotus was serious about leaving them, she hoped that his father would never call him back and that the family would be as it was when she had first found them. They seemed so happy to her at the time.

It was rare that they argued in earnest, although the two brothers did bicker occasionally it was always about very small matters. She felt sorry, too, that Hesiod had not found his mate, earnestly hoping that it would all turn out for the best for each of the winged-ones.

With the rising of the sun, her life would begin its transition - she would become as the winged beings. The sky would be her new home. Hope and fear churned in her breast as she struggled for the solace of sleep.

…

Amphelios awoke with a terrible gaze, saying nothing to his companion of what he had seen. The Founder could sense pain and sorrow in his eyes and a great foreboding swept over him. He laid his hand on the other's in comfort and it felt as though he touched a corpse, so cold it was.

The Keeper sought to rise from the murky basin, struggling from want of strength, for the night had wearied him greatly and the white serpent, nowhere to be seen, took much of his soul. The man knew that he had dwelt too long in the otherworld, longer than was safe. Disregarding caution, Amphelios had little sense of how many years he had been losing from the span of his life, fearing to think of it, fearing the consequences of his failure more. The Founder surmised this too well but did not rebuke his friend, as it must have been some great need or human passion that compelled him to remain thus in the presence of his wife's distant spirit, for which no wise words would avail. He was only sorry, so little could he do.

The elder man took off his cloak and wrapped it around his friend, helping him make his way back to their abode. The while that they walked, Amphelios cast his eyes to the earth and did not meet the Founder's gaze; he feared that his companion would read his shame upon them and mark him for a fool.

By the fire they sat and warmed their limbs, thinking of what must be done, each deep within his own mind. Yet their thoughts were muddled by their emotions and were useless to future action, being merely phantasms of horrors which rendered one helpless. The Founder was the stronger of the two and urged the other to rest, seeing the senselessness of brooding.

"Tomorrow, when the sky is light again, you must tell me what you had seen," spoke the Founder.

Amphelios looked at him for the first time since he awoke under the moonlight and nodded with reluctance.

It was by the weariness of the night's vigil that the Founder reached sleep, and his friend, likewise, was aided by the weakness of his body.

When they arose that morning to their breakfast, they ate heartily, unabashed to show their hunger and allowing themselves the pleasure of satisfying the simple wants of the body. Each tore off great pieces of bread from the loaf which they shared and dipped it in gravy, some pots held a mass of crushed berries mixed with honey, others of nuts, chickpeas, and spices. They were so drained by their suffering that their minds were almost numb to complex thought and emotion, the plain bliss of flavor and the sun's warmth was all that they experienced that morning. When their hunger was satisfied, they went to a nearby stream and drank, later following its course to a lake in the midst of the forest.

By the time they had reached it in that afternoon, the warmth of the day had only grown, and they swam leisurely in the clear soothing waters. It helped them greatly to refresh themselves thus after a long night and they spent most of their hours in the idle joys of nature, listening to the birds and diving under the surface in search of fish. They felt like children again. It was as though, by a mutual agreement, they refused to think and speak of weighty matters -almost fearful of what it would be like to gaze upon them for the first time since the Keeper awoke.

"I sensed that the half of my soul which was bestowed to Anna was being destroyed, day by day, by her own will," the Keeper said to the other, cold despair laced through his voice. "She senses it too, yet desires her flight and her freedom more than my oppressing love. She can bear the burden no longer and reviles my nature. I have caused her much suffering by asking more of her than she would willingly give. I constantly feared losing her and thus lost her. I had cast too many of my own troubles upon her and she does not want them."

"You had feared it would be so since the very splitting of your soul – it makes one vulnerable," answered the Founder. "Your loneliness drove you to it."

"Yes," the other replied.

"Yet it is no utter foolishness, to have tried. It would have been unnatural to accept one's aloneness at such an early stage of life, when so many years are yet to be lived. The White Castle is a cold place."

"How can a bird bear the weight of the world? To expect such a thing, is it not foolishness?" Amphelios did not believe the other's words of comfort.

"Perhaps not a bird, but some stronger beast, might have been able to," he answered.

"That is why I stayed too long," Ampehlios confessed. "My conscience fought against hers – I hoped to persuade her against her choice, I wanted her to return to me, desperately."

"I had imagined it was so," the Keeper nodded.

"At one point her spirit and my own drew close again but I hesitated, I was still greatly saddened that she would chose to leave thus. I wondered if we could ever be as one again – there was much doubt in my heart."

"Was there not anger and loathing as well as doubt?"

"She accused me of loathing, she said that I hated her - how could she doubt me so? It much offended me to hear her speak to me with such contempt, yet if only she had been more cruel and less noble in discarding me, then perhaps I could have endured it."

"You are angry at being discarded, it must have injured your pride but I am certain it shall recover" spoke the other.


	24. Chapter 24

"It is clear now what must be done, we must forget - forget all but the essence of what had happened, so as not to lose the virtue of its lessons," Amphelios looked gravely at the other while at the same time he seemed not to see him. "Moreover, we must not only forget these memories but the words to speak of them – for words only add to the evils of the world. That is why the brute beasts are a purer lot than us. We but assume that all that they do is impelled by the necessities of survival, which none can forgo without ceasing to be, and such we shall ascribe to the wills of men."

"I can but conjecture at your meaning," the Founder answered him.

"Let us return then to the times of old, before we had been burdened by these somber thoughts which lead us down winding paths beyond our comprehension. Recall the day when you had left the humble village that had been the home of your studies, the day when I had abandoned the confides of the monastery - long before spells of misfortune had fallen upon us in great bouts beyond endurance. Let us return to the woods as men reborn."

The Keeper spoke as though preaching, endeavoring to make amends for his own doubts with the force of his effort in trying to persuade the other.

"I can look forward to a future in the past," the Founder smiled sardonically. "If you are so impatient for the balm of time to work upon your wounds."

"I see it clearly. Among the valleys of yore there is peace to be found," Amphelios was gladdened by the other's approval, or such it seemed to him in his blind enthusiasm.

"At once then, stir the concoction that would take us to that time and place, do as you please and I shall follow, for I have grown weary of feigning wisdom and am eager for mad schemes. I am one who is without fetters to here and now - it is always the company that one keeps that makes one's home," he placed his hand on his friend's shoulder, reassuring him thus.

"Then let us make haste before courage forsakes us."


	25. Chapter 25

A vast field stretched out to the horizon, the sun's first rays giving it an ethereal glow that filled its solitary beholder with a sense of awe and welcome at the commencement of his wayward journey. The heavy steps and outstretched arms of a man parted the rows of withering wild plants, whose names were yet known to him, bring back memories of yellow paged volumes which he had left unopened. He felt the urge to run ahead as quickly as his old legs would carry him, although his journey did not press him onwards, it was the exhilarating sense of freedom which drove him, for there was no destination which he sought. His reason did what it could to do away with doubts and fears, managing just well enough to finish the last of his preparations.

With a leather satchel tied to his back and filled with what provisions could be reasonably carried, the elderly man left behind what had long been his refuge. A humble cottage was engraved with comforting thoughts and the remembrance of quiet evenings. Especially when it rained or snowed, he knew that he would be drawn strongly to the past. For the years which followed he sought only to hear the songs of the birds and delight in eating wild berries while breathing in the air which seemed to him fresh from distant mountains. An air that few but him had breathed before, still carrying the hidden whispers of forests. His only fear in this was that the habits formed during his previous mode of living would be obstacles to the force of the wilderness and that the learning which had devoted himself to was not sufficient to sustain his mortal body.

It was a matter of certainty that to have told others of his plans, if there had been others that would listen, would have made him fall much in their esteem, being deemed a madman. Yet such ties were few and the world was vast, and so he set out with as few encumbrances as could be managed, in hopes that the wisdom he had found and would find along his path would be enough, that a vague fragile light would guide him, faint but eternal to those whose eyes were keen. To have shunned the pillars of reason and prudence at times made him shiver, but the rolling fields carried him onward like great waves. And waves too were what met him, for he soon came to an escarpment overlooking the sea or the ocean, he knew not which, he could only perceive its majesty and strength.

His figure seemed to him all the more diminutive, like a branch in the wind, with a storm fast approaching, as he crouched down to the ground and looked on as waves collided with black jagged rocks below. They were like the teeth of a monster's jaw and he could well see in his mind's eye a thousand galleys of merchants and lords of old having met their end thereby, giving their offering of gold doubloons to the capriciousness of the sea. Moreover, he saw the dens of merfolk down below, or perhaps in the side of the cliff itself where the white gulls settled. From the pocket of his robe, he took a loaf and tore a piece away, casting it to hooked bills, delighting in watching them soar and wishing that his arms were wings. A smile graced his lips, dry form the cold, yet such undiluted joy compensated him well.

Committing the view to memory, as well as its folkloric associations, the figure passed onwards like a shade, delighting in the solitude that the landscape afforded. Picking up his satchel, he walked along the coastal trails until he reached a forest, the symbol of his journey. The branches did not welcome him graciously, scratching at his face and barring his path, but he did his best to weave under or over them, and imagining that he saw a trail there too which in time called him to the ruins of an abandoned abbey, at the center of which grew a great yew. He stood for some time in admiration of the discovery and then stepped up to the tree, pressing on hand to its trunk and then another, sharing in its energy. The place called to him strongly and it was there that he would spend the night. Taking a light repast, he observed that a branch had fallen from the tree, he rose to pick it up and examine it closely. It was smooth but ridden with many holes made by insects, yet for its beauty and moreover the aura which it held for him, he slipped it into his pocket as a keepsake and talisman to mark the day.

The sky soon began to grow dark, thus after having gathered his meager belongings, he began to search for a place to rest for the night. The ruins of the monks' abode provided him with suitable shelter, to which he added the comfort of a bed of gathered foliage. Having thus prepared the place for repose, he laid himself down with his head upon his satchel, using his heavy winter cloak as a blanket. For some time he tossed and turned, not yet accustomed to the cold hard stone and the billowing of the wind. In the absence of light the abbey took on a much different ambiance than how it had appeared to him during the day, making feel his vulnerability and isolation all the more poignantly. In the depth of the woods various creatures shuffled and rustled among the leaves, to which his active mind could not help but ascribe the countenance of spirits. At times he thought that he could sense the presence of another standing by his makeshift bed, the silhouette of a human form that would grasp at the fringes of his blanket. Unsettled by the visions which he attributed to the lateness of the hour, he roused himself from the bed and went to the abbey courtyard which gave a fine view of the stars scattered across the clear night sky.

For as long as he could remember, turning his gaze to the distant lights would bring him a poignant reminder of the insignificance of many of the fears and aspirations which drove him hither and thither during the day. He imagined incomprehensible worlds and celestial beings whose surreal dreamlike nature made his spirit seek them in a moment of fantastical whimsy. Their faerie glow against a backdrop of deepest black made them a symbol of resilience and might, that such miniscule entities could keep their position against amid dark tides for what he believed was eternity. Yet of such matter, for matter they were, light, photons; the faint recollections from the books of men of science which his sentimental self had subconsciously scorned and which his heart had rejected in order to preserve a hope which he could not find words for.

He sat down under the boughs of the tree and allowed his thoughts to flow in peaceful contemplation of the preceding events of his journey. He saw himself back in his study, surrounded by piles of unfinished manuscripts and an assortment of detailed sketches depicting the anatomy of local plants and animals, as well as examples of some such specimens in neatly labelled boxes and jars which were arranged in rows upon a bookshelf. Various items of distant journeys were also in his midst, procured from travelling merchants which laid out their wares each week, waiting for the village to return from its prayers. Vasarius, for such was the man's name, and also that of his shop, enjoyed a life of self-imposed toil amid the implements of his trade. Over the years, he had fashioned himself as a botanist, philosopher, apothecary, perfumer, jeweler, book binder, poet, historian, tailor and alchemist as his fancy suited him, leading him down a path with many twists and turns, marked by the acquisition of a new volume promising to unveil the secrets of this or that profession. He was fearless in his attempts and took great pleasure in seeking out the best tools and materials which might be found among the rows of merchant stalls and carpets; the rest he would build based on instructions provided in the book which had given him his purpose, with varying degrees of success.

When at last all preparations had been completed, and attempts made – whether at producing a fine set of trousers or a reviving elixir – Vasarius would carry on the trade for two or three years before turning his talents to another. He was forever plagued with the fear of the pendulum, trusting neither in the sturdiness of his health nor the promise of an afterlife with due firmness. It was a matter of great importance for him to maintain a moderate diet and keep to a regime exercise, which consisted primarily of meat and vegetable stews followed by a stroll in the neighborhood. These were the efforts which he took in hopes of maintaining his vitality long enough to assay the worthy professions which introduced themselves to him in their serendipitous ways.

A general thirst for learning seemed inexhaustible in him, for theories and tales alike he had much patience, and little for their application – desiring to see the fruits of his labor before him at once. It was only with much restraint of his wayward curiosity that he got on with some success, and indeed there were some practices which would seem to preoccupy him until his dying day; these were the arts and sciences which involved the creation of drawings and diagrams, narratives and descriptions, and anything else involving a quill, a bottle of ink and copious amounts of parchment. Observation and collection, too, were his proclivities, which provided for him during the ebbs and flows of his developing skills.

So did many years go by for him, as he hopped between the spheres of learning, and labored away the evenings in dissecting his thoughts. Little had troubled the village which was his home, a dwelling which had housed many a generation. Such had been the abode of Vasarius, he who in future times would shed his name and become the Founder – lest in revisiting the journeys of the past he should be led to different crossroads.


	26. Chapter 26

Having taken his rest, the old pilgrim trekked on for many whiles until the only sign of civilization consisted of a solitary coach station and its neighboring stables. Vasarius waited walked towards it and pushed open to door, making his way to the lobby. He sat himself down upon a well-worn yet still comfortable couch, taking in every detail of the room for a future record of his travels; the cold wind outside had chilled his hands to the bone, leaving him with no inclination to take up the pen or any other occupation. A certain restlessness overtook him, he would sit down and get up again many a time, shuffling about the room and rubbing his hands together.

Only the quizzical gazes of the strangers about him suppressed these habits, for in time two others had arrived at the station, while the horses had not. After several hours had passed it this way, a proposition was made to light the fire. Between them, they gathered sufficient coin to pay for the lumber which was soon made to produce flames. Eagerly, the men huddled about the hearth and removed their gloves – holding their hands so close to the fire as to only avoid getting burnt. After this comfort was afforded, conversation seemed to flow more freely and each made inquiries as to the other's origin and destination, and other such introductions.

As the night grew longer, eventually weariness descended upon them, this lull allowed Vasarius to fall into contemplation and reminiscence as he watched the bright flames flicker and dance until a sudden gust of wind and the sound of the swinging door disturbed his thoughts. The sleeping travelers started with a jolt, being so abruptly awakened from their slouching repose, while Vasarius turned from the hearth to see who it was.

A tall corpulent man in a black sable coat stood by the station master, his voice resounded with an imperious tone as he voiced his discontent at having to be kept waiting. At his feet waited the largest hound which man had ever been set eyes on - Vasarius was certain that it claimed its descent from Cerberus. Its grotesque head seemed to reach as far as his owner's ribs while globules of drool descended from between its wolfish teeth. Black fur covered its great shoulders and its eyes seemed filled with spleen for all but its master. When it stood on its haunches, the station clerk staggered backwards in shock, barely catching a scream of horror before it emanated from his throat. Vasarius observed that the fiendish beast was most responsive to the mood of the man, for whenever his face betrayed displeasure it would bark and pace about, flashing its teeth; yet when the tremulous clerk had in some ways succeeded in pacifying the impatient nobleman, for such his dress and comportment made Vasarius assume him to be, the dog too appeared to lessen its effort of intimidation, appearing playful and docile even while the master laughed boisterously.

The clerk plied him with wine from his private store as his entourage made their way inside – comprising of twelve or so servants as well as the coach driver and a pale faced girl no older than fifteen. Her hair was fair and twisted in a large braid, somewhat disheveled, while her eyes were forever fixed upon the planks of the floor. A duenna, governess or some kind of lady's companion ushered her about and whispered what were presumed to be soothing words or instruction, to which the young maiden betrayed no sign of response other than a sallow resignation to whichever fate she thought attended upon her.

Vasarius watched them make their way into the waiting lounge, as did the other travelers; there was something in their look and manner that did much to arouse curiosity and much whispering followed. The men in the entourage spoke to one another in a foreign tongue until at last not one but three coaches arrived. The motley company was then crammed within the compartments to a density and level of discomfort directly corresponding to the means of each occupant. To his later remorse, the old wanderer had decided to economize and thus had to make do with the modes of escape that his imagination offered while the view from the window was near entirely obscured by the hunched figures of strangers. Vasarius returned to reminiscing after the mountains of the dilapidated monastery which had been his temporary abode. He remembered how it stirred his imagination to gaze at the abandoned tower of the monks and the dark dwellings imbued with the histories of lives long departed and forgotten, but for the faint inscriptions upon moss covered tombs.

How the sun would rise to welcome the day, urging him to rise from his bed and slip on his coat to rejoin the exhilarating wilderness. Never was there such a place where his soul felt so alive, as though all of the years which had passed by were but a somber sleep. It was the realm of his ideals that he had reached, glowing with a radiance which seemed unearthly. Even the trees breathed with ethereal magic, each developing a distinct character over hundreds of years, much like the faces of men, each wrinkled upon the bark telling the story of a long life. Wildflowers bloomed upon the mountains, about which bees and peacock butterflies rested their wings to drink sweet honey. Vasarius would always stop to admire them whenever he saw them, fondly recalling how little disturbed they were by his presence, as were the birds and other mountain dwellers – the gray-bearded goats and roaming deer in herds of ten or twelve.

They would gather about the freshwater stream which tickled down the great slope, with banks of green on either side while a lone slender tree endured the wind upon the precipice where the water's flow resembled a waterfall fit for the gentry. Vasarius's feet would ache with blisters after a hike of several kilometers yet his face beamed with joy, for even if by a steady progress of limping, his spirit drew him onwards on a pilgrimage to the beauties of nature. Whether upon new or familiar paths, his heart was warm with pleasure at the glories of the mountain valley, unlike any he had seen before or even imagined.

He savored this memory always and feared lest it should grow dim with the passing of time. While he lived there, he found every moment to be precious, to be experienced rather than contemplated, his waking hours were made known to him through his senses. How great was the contrast, when he recalled how many daily blessings were passed by unnoticed while he ruminated upon past guilt and future labor, drying to draw ever last drop of meaning from events which were beyond scrutiny – having grown nebulous and draped in emotions which presently seemed foreign to him.

Yet still he persisted in racking his brain for the great insight which would help him sever the chains to the past, to allow him to believe that his future would prosper from past suffering; that it was not all for naught – nevertheless, after a year's passing, he felt no closer to his object. The scales of his conscious were unable to accurately weigh whose fault was the greater.

At last the carriage came to a halt. Opening his eyes, Vasarius realized that he was the last to disembark. Outside the window he could see a great expanse of sand stretched out before him, made smooth as a looking glass by the rocking waves of the beach. The coast reflected the sun's rays, making it glow like a wide bridge to an Otherworld. The rain fell and the wind billowed, as though trying to dissuade him, yet he hopped out of the carriage and ran on, wishing to reach the end unknown.


	27. Chapter 27

From the seemingly endless sands, the wanderer arrived at the speechless village. Disconcerted Vasarius, wondering if he should attribute the strange phenomenon to the eccentric will of the inhabitants themselves or to an obedience to an imposed decree - religious or otherwise, or rather, to a physical infirmity. If it were the latter, had the occupants of the town been gathered from far and wide as the lepers of their people or was their peculiar malady the result of a disease of a local origin? Vasarius asked himself these questions as he walked down the silent dirt paths. Beyond the sandstone houses with their gray slate roofs, he could see undulating hills divided by low ancient walls made up of layered rocks. While pausing to take in the expanse of the landscape, he could perceive that the few villagers which passed would slacken their pace to look at him with a mingled tensions and curiosity.

Walking onward, Vasarius saw various shops selling local wares and produce, and, being reminded of his hunger, he approached one of them. Indicating a wicker basket of what looked to be blackberries, he smiled at the tall hoary figure, a kindly looking man with a short white beard and sorrowful eyes. Vasarius produced a silver coin, to which the man shook his head, and then a bobbin of string, on which he seemed to pause and reflect, before at last accepting the item in exchange for two small baskets of the berries. Vasarius took them with a bow of his head and ate them as he walked, wondering whether he had not made a good bargain, for the berries were sold in abundance and perhaps with some patience he could have picked some for himself in the forest. A piece of brass he then traded for a loaf of bread at a neighboring stall and so managed to procure an ascetic's supper.

At times he had tried to draw one of the inhabitants into conversation, if only through signals and hand gestures, but his efforts only resulted in expressions of nervous confusion, with their eyes the villagers would look left and right as though wishing to find the path of their escape while being pinned to their place by an unknown force so long as Vasarius looked at them. Having spent an hour thus, he decided to seek the forest paths for some repose from the feeling of the outsider in the realm of outsiders. Taking to the well-trodden cart roads, he passed several farmhouses in various stages of dilapidation, dun cows, horses and old mules tied to wooden fences, and many clumps of thistle, until at last the rows of pine greeted him. He had not walked long before the forest appeared to grow dense and a fear came over him that he might lose his way, for there was no discernable path, and many a time he had to force himself through a tangle of branches which were like clawed arms keeping him back. A sudden sound surprised him, a rustling in the leaves, and the silhouette of a human form whose arms had been tied behind him while his torso was bound to the trunk of an old oak.

Beneath the boughs of the tree, the figure seemed to move but little, as though resigned to its fate in all but its gaze, which at once turned to the approaching stranger with wide eyes. As Vasarius approached, he could better discern that it was a man with an angular aristocratic face and figure that appeared thin and drawn, although not yet in the state of emaciation which would indicate a prisoner that had long been left for dead, yet perhaps that was the very fate he was intended for. He had long dark hair and was attired in a somber habit as that of a priest, while it seemed that his shoes had been taken from him, for his feet were bare. Vasarius wondered if he had the ability of speech, seeing that he had been outcasted or guilty of some crime, but when he sought to speak he himself did not know which words ought to be his first utterance to the prisoner of the forest. It were as if the peculiar proclivity of the village was contagious.

At first such a thought was merely a jest of his reflections in response to his own natural awkwardness in speech, yet as he endeavored to mumble a few words, the wanderer found that he could not. His tongue moved ineffectually as his throat began to feel hoarse and dry. This sudden revelation frightened him dreadfully and for several minutes he almost forgot the stranger, clutching at his own throat seeming to gasp for breath. The stranger shook his head and shuffled the leaves with his foot to draw Vasarius attention to him, his eyes silently pleading for his release. The self-serving distraction momentarily suspended Vasarius's fear and brought him back to the mysterious clearing in the woods and his lapse in dignity, embarrassed at the sort of impression he must have made, but perhaps, in his predicament, the prisoner cared little for appearances - more motivated by hopes of escape.

Vasarius deliberated whether or not to release him, while the both exchanged equally uneasy expressions, brothers in their despair. Making a few more attempts to speak, the wanderer at last gave up his hopes to the malignant influence which overpowered him and sat down some way away from the other, examining him closely once more to see if he could discern anything more about him – as though one could read by some mark or external feature, the tell-tale signs of a villainous character. The prolonged interval of thought caused the stranger's expectations to decline, Vasarius reading in his expression a change from eagerness to despondent resignation, his eyes taking on an almost vacant gaze fixed on the dark gloom of the forest. Indeed the sun that filtered through the canopy had begun to grow dim, adding to Vasarius's foreboding.

At last he resolved to untie the ropes which held the priest captive, for such he chose to deem him, at which the stranger's eyes again lit up in hope and a smile of relief grazed his lips, watching as the wanderer reached around the tree fighting with the ropes. At last he took a small hatchet from the pocket of his robe and cut them with the blade, somewhat blunted from use. The work completed, the priest stumbled to his feet with some difficulty, his limbs having grown stiff from sitting in one place, he rubbed his wrists and examined the marks left by the rope, before turning to Vasarius and bowing his head in a gesture of gratitude.

Neither knowing how to proceed, while equally desirous of explanation and introduction, they had to be contented with trusting in the morsels of goodwill that their brief acquaintance had provided them – neither having pounced upon the other nor endeavored to do harm. Vasarius pointed in the direction of the village, which he hoped would be interpreted as either a sign to head in that direction or a question of whether the stranger had come from there. To this the priest shook his head, his lips tightening, and proceeded deeper into the forest with a few cautious. With a questioning glance he proposed for the other to follow, to which the Vasarius assented. It was not long before the forest grew completely dark and each stumbled over rock and root, the wanderer could not help but pity the priest with is bare feet, but he had no shoes that he could offer him – his socks he had already given, which were accepted with a mixture of thankfulness and repulsion at their well-worn state, in any case, they were better than nothing at all. In the distance Vasarius could hear shouts and perceived the light of torches which sent his heart pounding, for he imagined with horror the fury of the villagers once they discovered the missing prisoner freed by an outsider - and an unknown punishment weights more heavily upon the imagination than even the guillotine.

To Vasarius's great relief, the priest had led them to what he thought was a place of shelter, a cave on the outskirts of the forest. Parting the ivy and bramble which grew densely at the entrance, the somber-faced man stepped inside, feeling his way along the walls. Vasarius was about to set down his heavy satchel when he noticed the other crawling on the ground as though in search of something. To assist him, the wanderer lit is small brass lamp and placed it on the floor, which had the effect of revealing a horrified countenance which quickly blew out the flame. Perhaps he feared being discovered, Vasarius suspected, and likewise getting on his knees, he help him as best as he could to search about for he knew not what.

Suddenly his hand touched something that felt like the coldness of metal – the handle of a door of some kind – how he would dread clambering through subterranean narrow passageways in the dark with a prisoner guilty of crimes unknown. He breathed in deeply and exhaled, trying to bring some calm to his palpitating old heart while the priest, hearing the clanging of the brass door handle, moved towards it and did not hesitate to open it. It was pitch black in the abysmal entrance of the tunnel and Vasarius allowed the other to go first, watching him nimbly climb down using the winding blocks of damp, moss-covered stones forming a winding staircase. At the bottom of the staircase lay more darkness.

He faintly discerned the priest outstretching his hands in search of the walls and could feel his grasp upon his sleeve. Vasarius let the other pull him along the unknown subterranean path, trying his best to feel grateful for the shelter it afforded them, for the night had grown cold and he relished some protection from the wind, and moreover, the villagers. Yet another attempt was made to speak, as fruitful as the prior. It seemed that the priest was unperturbed, his face showing little sign of emotion – it appeared vacant as that of a man lost in thought, driven to motion by an instinctual or automatic force. The two men walked for what felt like a great distance, taking its toll on the wanderer, already weakened by his journey to the village. He yearned to collapse and take rest, eventually deciding to resist the sleeve's pull and sitting upon the cold ground with his face in his hands.

A deep sense of exasperation flooded over him and even at his venerable age he desired to let go of his fears and uncertainties through a deluge of tears. He began to question the worth of his toilsome travels and the dangers which it was fraught with, some of which it shamed him to admit fear of, such as the bite of a mad dog. He recalled this particular fear as one shared by a great botanist of days of old, his name long forgotten – this train of thought led Vasarius to think of his own memory after his body would be no more than ashes, a candle snuffed out. But these were dismal commonplace thoughts, that much he knew, they were futile to consider – he strived to shake them off and return to the present moment, knowing too well what it was to be led back to a state of melancholy.

He turned to the stranger, who looked upon him all the while. There was a kindness in his eyes which was not there before and Vasarius desired to imagine the mental state was familiar to him, that there was an empathy between them. His long solitary journey had given him the propensity to attribute his own feelings to those with whom his path crossed, for to be alone with only one's own thoughts for company made it difficult to remember the ways of the world. Sitting down beside him, the priest placed his hand on the other's shoulder by way of comfort. After the silent pause, they both continued on down the dark corridors, listening to the faint sound of rainwater trickling down the walls.

It was seen as a blessing by Vasarius, who hoped that it would have the effect of discouraging the villagers and extinguishing a wrathfulness which he imagined in them like a flame in a hearth. After walking in silence for an hour, the two men could see a light illuminating the way ahead, it came from a pit at the center of a room decorated with turquoise painted tiles, around which hopped an emaciated being, no bigger than a child. The urchin looked to be in the worst possible state, its ribs protruding and its hair and limbs caked in dirt, yet it moved in a lively apelike fashion as it threw twigs to the flames. Its face suddenly became very animated as it beheld the priest, recognition in its eyes, and it began to make guttural sounds, dropping its bundle on the ground, and crouching like an animal, made its way towards the wanderer.

Vasarius stepped back as it approached him and made to grab at his cloak. The priest swatted its hand away with a disapproving grimace and the being was swift to obey. Looking about the chamber, Vasarius became aware of other forms partially hidden by the shadows sitting, sleeping, or crouching in alcoves encircling the ornate fire pit. They each had a distinct appearance of grotesqueness, small diminutive as imps, others brutish and corpulent, their appearance placing them somewhere on the border of humanity. These feral creatures set their eyes upon the visitors and joined together in a most disturbing call – the wanderer could not tell whether it was a cry to battle or a welcome to the strange troop. He looked to the priest to inform him, yet his face was vacant and told him little but that the man was either fearless or had nothing to fear. In time he would discover that they had no tongues, that they were those whose families had broken the village's vow of silence, and that it was the berries that took away his power of speech – specially grown for their unique chemical qualities.

These things were conveyed to him by the priest through drawings in the dirt before they had settled down to sleep in one of the alcoves. He tried to inquire about the priest's role in these matters but struggled to understand him, for the priest would merely shake his head and sigh. Vasarius wished to look into his mouth to see if he had a tongue but had yet to find an opportunity. He wondered if the other was making efforts to conceal the truth on this point, which would in itself be evidence of a kind, or if it was merely by chance that Vasarius could not yet tell how it was. The wanderer doubted that he would be able to sleep in such a sordid place, yet his body was so weary from the long trek and emotional turmoil that it offered no resistance to allowing him the comfort of dreams, caring neither for the dubious character of his roommates nor for the biting cold.

When next he awoke, the priest still laying on the tattered blankets that had been strewn about the floor of the alcove like a rat's nest, or a bird's nest, if he were to take the more optimistic view of the setting. Several candles had been put out to offer some light, as well as two platters on which lay a piece of bread; some very bitter roots, so he later found; a clump of broad green leaves and a jug of stale tea to share between them. He imagined these were the offerings of the urchins, imps, and goblins – Vasarius named them thus again to clutch at some lighter feeling about the darkness which permeated the subterranean world which he found himself in. He had been shown no malice by their kind, as startling as their appearance was to him, he endeavored to remind himself and strengthen goodwill towards them, yearning to believe in the general tendency towards benevolence that he rightly or wrongly attributed to all living beings.

His faith was that malice came from pain and that his role was to offer compassion. These thoughts brought him to recollections of the prior night, which lingered as dimly as delirious dream – the nighttime scrawling in the sand, the merchants of the village, the animal voices of the imps – these memories came to him disjointed and out of order, catching glimpses of sounds, faces, and sensations. All that he could see clearly was a general feeling of oppressive sadness. He tried to dispel it by distraction, wondering whether the priest was awake yet or if he ought to rouse him for his breakfast; approaching his makeshift bed, he touched his shoulder with nervous hesitation, feeling the other startle into wakefulness. The other's gray eyes turned upon him, as though he too remembered the previous day as though it were little more than a dream.

The next morning, the urchins were led to a stream like a flock of sheep, following behind the priest with a humble obedience which Vasarius found surprising, for the manners and gait of each of the misfit forms did not lend them to his imaginings of an orderly troop. Nonetheless, they marched like a group of disciplined school children, who, only by great force of will or fear of punishment, followed the headmaster's guidance. Once they reached the stream, they clambered with excitement to immerse themselves in the cool refreshing water. There the priest left the wild assembly to their pleasures as he led the old wanderer onward through the forest amid which was situated a glass dome. To the outward gaze it appeared to have no door, nevertheless, the two of them were able to pass through the glass, making way as though it had been made of a material as delicate as the web of a spider. Furthermore, while from the outside it appeared empty, protecting no more than a patch of wild grass, thousands of butterflies were then seen to be fluttering about an exquisite garden.

Vasarius, lifting his arms and striding through the decorative mazes, heavy with blossoms, could not help but laugh with the joy of a child as multicolored wings brushed against his skin – seeing the butterflies transform themselves into exotic birds. It was an earthly paradise, opening on an expanse of lawn, no long immaculately trimmed as in years of old, but dotted with lovely blue wildflowers amid the tall grass. Peacocks and pheasants stepped gracefully around the overgrown shrubs that once lined the footpaths or were arranged as whimsical labyrinths and sculptures.

Lichen-covered birdbaths and Grecian statues provided points of interest for an idyllic walk, their marble arms shattered like excavated remains of the ancient world. Yet surely the enchanted setting which Vasarius had the pleasure of exploring was not as ancient as that, he mused, his eyes returning from time to time to the somber figure which walked behind him. It was easy to see that the sight of derelict beauty brought him no pleasure, evoking memories too painful to stomach. At the center of the ornamental garden stood a statue of the whitest marble, depicting a young nymph draped in flowing fabric with locks of hair falling about her shoulders, so lifelike was the stone that Vasarius was compelled to touch it to see if it were not so.

This made the priest turn away in scorn and anguish, his thoughts were ablaze with contradictory emotions of preserving and destroying the remains of an ideal. He knew that many had suffered a similar fate and wondered if time would apply its balm to him as well, yet how long must he wait, how impatient he was to be rid of such memories. The more blissful they had been then, the more they burned his heart in that moment. Vasarius surmised that this was the object for whom the other pined, to whom the beautiful grounds had been dedicated. A thought occurred to him, most reckless and frightful, he knew not whence, and before his mind could deliberate further, he ran at the statue with all the force he could muster and with his entire weight, brought it to the ground shattering into dust and broken fragments. His shoulder and arm were bruised as he hit the ground, laying amid the marble limbs, the beautiful face still gazing emptily down one of the garden paths, it seemed to look out at the priest.

At first the man's expression was pale and aghast at the shock of what Vasarius had done, yet as he recovered himself, he approached the rubble and lifted the head of the statue. The gray mournful eyes met those of the nymph, no longer being able to restrain his emotions, he burst into sobbing, of which, much embarrassed, he turned away from the wanderer. The day was ended by burying the head of the statue and wrapping Vasarius's wounds.


	28. Chapter 28

The priest led Vasarius through the thickets and groves. From the hours of ceaseless walking it was not long before his limbs ached and his feet were swollen with callouses, yet a certain embarrassment and force of will led him onward, trying to keep up with the other as best as he might. At times they would pause for a drink from Vasarius's flask, the contents of which they knew would not last them for long, there was therefore much hope in the pilgrim that they would find a source of water soon. What they came to however was an old ruin, its congregation of birds departing in a great flurry of wings at the sound of rustling in the bushes as the men forced their way through and stood in wonder at the beauty which still surrounded the primeval place.

Vasarius could read a similar emotion of melancholy longing when he saw the stranger stand still and breathe deeply while his eyes took in the sight. By way of gestures, it was not long before the two agreed upon settling there for the night, or perhaps for longer -Vasarius could not yet discern the other's meaning in its entirety other than that they out to begin the construction of a makeshift dwelling from the fallen stones and what could be found in the woods to thatch a roof. It soon became apparent that neither of them had much experience in these matters but they did what they could in fitting branches into a makeshift roof and stacking fragments of stone as they had seen it done in the village.

Their work was expedited by making use of remaining walls of the chapel and repairing where possible rather than building anew. Vasarius could only hope that their distance from their pursuers was great enough to give them some hope of safety, from what fate they knew not. Only by an occasional smile, somewhat tense and reluctant, and by the enthusiasm in his work could the other show his gratitude and goodwill, for no words escaped either one of them during the entirety of their journey together. Vasarius regretted that he had lost track of the days, for it had been part of his resolution to keep a faithful record of his travels and thoughts since his departure from a life of comfort and routine, yet the bundle of parchment which he carried with him for this purpose had been soiled in mud and rain although it had dried since, he felt somehow discouraged to make use of it, nor had he managed to find the time or the desire to write when much of the day was so taken up in doing. To the wanderer this appeared to be the key contrast afforded by his way of living, in that prior to his departure the bulk of his interest and fascination would lay with the internal, and ever since, it was the external world which captivated him.

They took turns keeping watch through the night and as the hours progressed, both eventually succumbing to sleep and found in the morning that one of them had been guilty of sleeping at his post while the other of not waking him to take his own turn at sentry duty. Given the case, neither had harsh words to exchange with his companion, whether they could have been uttered or not. There was nothing to be had for breakfast and with no dinner the previous evening their stomachs reminded them fiercely of what was required. They set to foraging about the woods in search of anything that might be eaten, finding several assorted handfuls of dubious berries which they decided not to risk their lives upon, with much to sway them the other way, for by then their hunger had only increased and it seemed that they might meet their end one way or another. With a furrowed brow, Vasarius listened carefully to discern if some kind of animal might be near, yet the woods were grimly silent and there were few signs of life between the heavy boughs of the pines. After walking further for several hours the landscape began to change, the trees becoming more sparse and the terrain more rocky, forcing them to strain much to be able to climb over the mountainous hills which lay ahead of them.

With a trouble heart, Vasarius thought bitterly of his own ineptitude at the art of survival in the wilderness, having little knowledge of hunting, fishing or foraging, and as to the skills of the other, he did not presume to lay his hopes in the stranger entirely. Still they walked on, knowing not what else to do but search for signs of civilization, one that was benevolently inclined. The two wanderers set their course by the sun, which gave them little guidance but that they were heading in a single direction away from the village from which they sought to escape, for it still held for Vasarius a vague fear in its associations, having taken his power of speech from him.

After traversing a great many miles, the two pilgrims reached a vantage point which allowed them a view of a great expanse of forest which gave way to acers of golden fields. The sight was a great relief to them, renewing their hopes and thus provisioning them with the ability to endure the continuance of their journey until they found themselves at a fenced off orchard. Between the wooden planks they could see branches heavy with pears, and although this food was hardly the warm hearty meal which they yearned for, they were glad for any sustenance that was within reach, or so they were obliged to believe. Scaling the fence was no difficult matter, reaching not much further than their waist. The sturdy planks served them as steps, and in little time they both found themselves upon the turf of grass, reaching out and biting into the sweet tasting fruit.

Some was stowed away in Vasarius's satchel in the case that they would not be so fortunate in future times of need, which they sensed was likely to be the case. After securing such provisions for themselves, they did not stay long in the orchard, for a sense of foreboding was there in trespassing on such a paradise, and so they retraced their steps to a region of the forest where they had found a cluster of stones which served them as stools and there they continued their repast undisturbed. While they ate, both figures could not help but give way to curiosity in examining each other closely, which they had the leisure to do while ravenously chewing and making vague plans for the future of their course through unfamiliar land.

The priest scrutinized the wrinkles which lined the wizen face of Vasarius, his venerable beard and the hermit's vestments which made him almost the theatrical archetype of the profession which he had undertaken. As for the old man himself, he saw in the other's features an embodiment of general discontentedness which seemed to be a natural disposition rather than a response to circumstance, these conjectures he made freely for no questions and answers had ever been exchanged between them about their history, ancestry, morality, ambitions or any other area defining a person's character. It was only by deeds, gestures, and facial expressions that they had any notion of one another. Nevertheless, due to their isolation from any other sentient being and a certain sense of comradery that had developed as a result of sharing in the obstacles of their journey, there grew a trust and understanding between them that sufficed to settle each into the idea of continuing together upon their route. Indeed, every now and again the thought occurred to one or the other that there were many advantages in combining their capacities against the caprices of nature and man.


	29. Chapter 29

Following his guide, Vasarius rose early the next morning and resumed his wayward journey. It was not yet noon when the forest path had led them to an unruly field surround a massive structure of stone, resembling an abandoned guardhouse but with several peculiarities in its design. These were the excessive height of the tower, which seemed to reach up to the clouds and the five or six wells which were scattered around it. In time it became known to Vasarius that these hid either ladders or ropes leading down to various unconnected underground corridors. To his surprise, the wanderer saw few signs of hesitation or curiosity as the other approached the main entrance. Presenting his eye to a large murky green stone set into the woodwork of the door, shaped too in the semblance of a crudely carved eye in the manner of some archaic race. They waited for a few moments before, recognizing the priest as one of the house, the great slab began to move with a sound most jarring to the ear.

Following the other to through the overgrown courtyard beyond, he took in the view of an ancient moss covered fountain filled with murky water, around which grew wildflowers and weeds in profuse clumps. This courtyard was outlined with stone paths which led to arched corridors, one of which was the route which they took. It was with some inhibition that Vasarius followed after, for in the wilderness he felt that they were both in unknown territory and equally in harm's way, while this domain was that of the other entirely – if not that of another who knew him, for surely in his manner there were the signs of familiarity. Upon these iron doors similar substitutes to the lock and key had been constructed; strange glass-like eyes which recognized only those permitted to enter.

Vasarius followed the priest through one such door and up a staircase, watching the hem of his robe going up and down the seven floors of the staircase, replacing leather-bound volumes into their allotted place from a stack that appeared to have been waiting for him upon a wooden pillar. All the while wondering at the other's memory, the old wanderer scanned the uniform appearance of the library shelves. None of the books shelved there had any mark upon their spine to indicate a system of order visible to the eye. The work at last completed, the man, trying to suppress his strained breathing and exhaustion, rejoined Vasarius at the bottom of the staircase. In silence they proceeded further down the corridor through which carried the scent of mildew and incense that was almost nauseating for the old wanderer. He felt his eyelids grow heavy and was on the point of collapse when the other leaped in time to catch him before he hit the floor.

When at last Vasarius awoke from where he had passed a most restless night, he recalled being plagued by nightmares and phantasms revolving around the theme of mazes and their horrible guardians. He found that he had been resting upon a great heap of assorted rags which someone had sewn into a single mass like some great multicolored mushroom. With some difficulty, he managed to stagger to his feet and look about him, finding himself in a room occupied by strange apparatuses of some experimental profession, as he surveyed the multitude of vessels, brass implements and intricate tools whose purpose he could venture only to guess at. Looking past these constructions he saw the priest asleep at a table over which a bottle of ink had been spilt. On the desk was also a glass globe enclosing purple flowers with curling leaves and tall stems which toppled against the walls of the dome form the weight of the clusters of petals, small but plentiful.

Curiosity led Vasarius to lift the glass and release a poignant scent which instantly filled the room, a most intoxicating fragrance unlike anything that he had experienced before. This sudden occurrence caused the priest to awaken, opening his eyes as quickly as though he had been startled by the sound of bell. At once turning his gaze at the perpetrator, his disapproval gave way to one of delight, directed at no particular object, as his eyelids appeared to grow heavy again with a sort of trance. Vasarius could not help but be taken into the strange mood as well; there was a certain impulse in him to embrace the plant as though it were a sentiment being, the embodiment of a deity, yet he was too late in acting upon this impulse for the priest had already taken the plant into his arms and had his face buried in its bountiful scent, breathing deeply and without restraint. The incongruity of the sight of the man and his usually somber nature was enough to sharpen the sense of the odd in Vasarius and awaken a certain wariness towards the plant, as though awaking from a pleasant dream just before taking a final step plunging oneself over a precipitous edge.

After some deliberation, hesitating to affront the other, Vasarius at last managed to snatch the potent botanic specimen from the priest's arms and replace the glass dome over it. Words could not express the curses and venom which seemed to emanate from the man's eyes as he watched his treasure being taken away, like a child from its mother's grasp. Grappling with him for some time and struggling to obscure the plant from the other's sight as much as he could, Vasarius began to wonder if the fire of the hearth was perhaps a more fitting place for the wretched thing, yet as the scent gradually disintegrated, so did the strange passions that it had excited. The priest relented in his grasping ways and recoiled from Vasarius quite ashamed to have been so overcome, while the other patted him on the shoulder gingerly in reassurance that were he the one with the plant in hand, he likely could not have done otherwise. Thus breaking through any awkwardness that might have remained between them, the old man proceeded to make his round about the room to further examine its museum-like contents, this time with greater care not to disturb anything lest it should have its consequences.

He examined from a distance a towering set of cabinets along one of the walls of the room, each containing an assortment of urns, great and small, some intricately ornamental while others bearing but a simple inscription engraved upon clay. Vasarius presumed that they bore names, for some were legibly Greek and so he could identify them with little difficultly, others were in runes which had little resemblance to either Latin, Arabic, Hebrew or any other alphabet which he had encountered during his years of study.

The stranger drew one such container from its place with ceremonious care and brought it forth to where the hyacinths were arranged in a row at some distance from the window, as not to overwhelm them with the sun's direct rays, yet still allow them to draw its benefits. Taking the lid off of one "Γεώργιος", he chose a gold spoon resting at the side of the chosen plant and scooped up some of the fine gray powder as though it were a portion of some rare spice, scattering it about the soil around the stem. This completed, he returned the urn to its place and then turned to Vasarius.

The tea pot had not been long left boiling, and, to the guest's surprise, a few handfuls of leaves were carefully plucked from the plant which had received the powder. These leaves were then steeped in hot water and released a fragrant aroma which lingered about the room like a strong perfume. The scent was like a blend of cardamom, lavender, and mint – but these were mere conjectures; although the tea sought to invite, there was something unnerving about its cultivation and the manner of his host which made Vasarius hesitate. He looked down at the amber colored liquid in its white porcelain cup which seemed to him as fragile as an eggshell, and then, with a pitiful timidity, at him who watched him with expectant cat-like eyes which sought to speak little and know much. At last, he brought himself to try it, evoking the first of the strange visions.

Vasarius beheld a procession of monks gathered in a great hall, their voices resounding as they chanted, the room lit only by candles and perfumed by incense. Their singing echoed melodiously in Vasarius's ears, while proffering no spiritual calm to his spirit, but rather the opposite - troubled as he was to find himself the intruder in such a place. To some relief, he caught sight of his companion, whose turn had come; bowing somberly before the altar before returning to his place among the rows of monks. More candles were then lit for the minor deities surrounding the great marble statue, a pagan colossus in the semblance of Apollo encircled by a myriad of servants, each made of brightly colored stones such as carved lapis lazuli, amber, as well as some of coral and of sandalwood.

At designated times of the year, one of the monks would offer to curtail his mortal existence and offer his services to the eternal god, supposedly gaining higher honor in the afterlife than those who waited for Time to take them to their omnipotent father. Such monks, often induced by a prophetic dream, yielded to its symbolic omens and declared their wishes to the leader of the conjugation, who would then host a great feast which would conclude only at midnight, when the last glass of wine was drunk. The chosen monk would drink from an ancient chalice which had floated to the coast not far from the monastery a great many years ago, whether it was merely the lost cargo of an unfortunate merchants ship, none dared to openly dispute, but few could argue that the object of beauty was less than many centuries old and of masterful silverwork, decorated in the ways of the pagans.

And so it remained among the servant statuettes upon the altar, until ceremony required it. After this fatal drink was consumed, the monk would be escorted by all of the inhabitants of the monastery up the great mountain, trekking through the night, until a cave was reached where he was to spend the night during which the god would collect him. Some disbelievers among them conjectured that this was a ploy by some monks to escape their vows and run away, for to do so by other means would lead to severe punishment if ever they were found; those who offered themselves to the god were never searched for – deemed no longer of the earth.

Such was the ceremony which Vasarius beheld; the liturgy was followed by a fine banquet for the chosen monk, a comely fair-haired youth. With a tremulous heart, Vasarius waited for all to be seated and then took one of the empty seats at the pages' table. His hunger urged him to join the others in taking a few morsels from the common plate, yet these seemed to turn to ashes as his touch. He watched as the company around him ravenously ate their fill, taking little notice of him or his strange predicament. With some disappointment, the wanderer occupied his time in looking about the room and surreptitiously studying the faces of each of the monks, attributing caricatures of personality to each of them based on their features and manner of eating, whether greedy, proud, or discerning.

He also observed that the priest that had led him through the forest did not partake in the meal either, but rather, cut the food into pieces that he moved about the plate periodically. After the rites had ended and the monks were proceeding out of the banquet hall, Vasarius had managed to slip away, heeding to the beckoning of his companion. Their route led them down a once sealed passageway, through the catacombs sacred to the saints of the creed. It caused the old man no slight discomfort to pass by the walls made up of stacked skulls and bones, on which only a morbid curiosity allowed him to gaze. Lastly, the wanderer followed the priest through a curtain draped over an arched, only to find himself standing in front of a shattered teacup in the room where he had slept.

Such had been the ceremony of Γεώργιος.


	30. Chapter 30

Through nods and gestures, many poorly understood explanations were given of other concoctions, relics, books, and apparatuses until at last curiosity gave way to hunger and Vasarius indicated that it was perhaps time for lunch, if the host would be so kind. At this, the priest looked vexed and thought for some time pacing to and fro, until at last he had the other follow him out of the room and back down the corridor. Down the stairway they went, descending down a sufficient number of steps to leave the old wanderer quite out of breath. At last they arrived at a single door which required one only to turn the handle, having no lock upon it, or one that had been broken. It was fortunate that the priest had brought a lamp for it would have been impossible to see their way about otherwise. They appeared to be in the lowest part of the construct: a most unusual subterranean garden. Never had he seen plants that had the ability to grow without any source of light whatsoever, yet all about him assorted flora protruded from the earth amid in neatly arranged rows, much like an industrial plantation. Either from the previous encounter, although not entirely proven to be malicious, or from the general ambiance of the place, Vasarius could not shake a certain unpleasant feeling at the idea of eating anything that grew there. Yet the priest was already at work, upon his knees using a goblet to dig out what looked like a giant turnip and handing it to the old wanderer to hold.

Sometime after nightfall, a dinner was laid out before Vasarius, as solemn and austere as the host himself. Throughout the meal of diced root vegetables and strong wine, the man retained a pensive expression, while thoughtful with regards the other's physical comfort, seemed all the while eager to return to his own inner broodings, whose nature Vasarius could not yet discern. Like a petulant child, the wander was moved by a strange impulse to interrupt the gloomy silence by the shattering sound of a wine chalice falling to the floor, spilling red wine across the large stone slabs, both of their eyes following it as it rolled under the table. The scarlet stain had something horrible in it, for the other's shoulders suddenly hunched over and his thin long fingers tightened into fists upon the fabric of his robe close to his neck, while his eyes were the image of a horror and revulsion. Indeed it took little on the part of Vasarius's imagination to envision a pool of blood. Realizing his own absurdity, the priest quickly endeavored to force these unbecoming emotions into submission behind an apologetic smile, mirroring that of his guest. Risking from his seat, the old man took his napkin and began to clean up the mess as best as he could while the other sat immobile in his chair, looking at him like a marble statue.

There was something noble about his sharp features, Vasarius observed, as he looked back at the pale face which seemed to see through him with sympathy. He wondered if the melancholy dwelling was truly his home and what business he had there. Neither having much appetite for the fare before them, the dinner was soon concluded and they retired to bed, this time to a room that was occupied by a large bed with tall carved posts reaching up to the ceiling, draped with heavy moth-eaten curtains which must have once been grand, embroidered with golden heraldry of falcons and ivy. Clean white linen had been laid out and a plain old fashioned nightgown and wash basin were provided for Vasarius. The other left the room while his guest prepared himself for another night's sleep within the castle, for he knew not what else to call it.

That night the strange figure slept beside him, at first nearly motionless, and then, as the night progressed, began suffering from horrible dreams from which he seemed to writhe in agonies fearful to behold. Vasarius wondered whether he ought to wake the priest, but ultimately decided against this based on notions that he had picked up that it was dangerous to do so, not entirely knowing the deeper reasoning behind this advice, nor where it had originated from, and thus often wavering in his resolve. At last it became too frightful to watch the other's convulsions, like a fit of epilepsy, and so he held him by the shoulders, and this not awakening him, dipped a towel into cold water and tried to awaken him thus, proving more effective as the man's eyes opened with a frightened and ashamed expression.

Vasarius lighted a candle and placed it on the nightstand. There was a fireplace in the room which appeared not to have been used for many years; with the dry and decaying wood that lay beside it, he managed to get a fire going to give some sense of comfort to the otherwise dismal bedchamber. There too he had observed a large iron kettle which he sought to fill with water, after descending many steps to one of wells he had recalled seeing outside. The other, not knowing where his companion had gone, nor able to ask, waited in bed, leaning upon a pile of pillows and taking a certain pleasure in the sight of the fire and in the thought that someone was ministering to him; while there was no small part of embarrassment at the idea of being treated as an invalid, there was also a sense of security and relief in knowing that the isolation of his previous existence had been at least in part dispelled by the good intentions of the stranger who had countless times shown his well-meaning nature.

Meanwhile, Vasarius struggled with the steps and the weight of the kettle, while trying to makes sure that his lantern did not go out, and thus leave him in complete darkness in the unfamiliar corridor. Outside he would then face the challenge of making his way through the grave-like field and unknown odds of finding water in the one of the wells, yet his nature was a determined one once he had set his mind to do something, especially for the good of another, and to back down from it seemed to him a reflection of a single deed as a portrait of his character in its entirety. That is to say, he was a man who attached much meaning and viewed with undue intensity the minutest movements of his conscience in traversing life's obstacles. The scales of his spirit were immersed either in blackness or whiteness, ever act an opportunity to elevate or mire his soul to profound depths or heights, depending on his strength to rise to the occasion. Many were his struggles against each of the sins, in turn.

At last reaching the somewhat familiar expanse of a field, he took his time in navigating to first one well and then other, observing each to be empty but two, that were filled with a sludge that he could not bring himself to return with. Most curiously however, he found that a stepladder or spiraling staircase was to be found in many of them, but these he did not care to try with little by way of light, for the moon was but a crescent that night and his lantern provided only a feeble light barely sufficient to light the path before him and keep him from tumbling over the rocks, roots, and vines scattered around the field. Much exhausted, he decided to leave the weighty kettle by the side of the well and return for it the next morning rather than be burdened by it on his return journey back up the tower. It was with difficulty that he found his way back to the room from which he had come, having made trial of several similar wooden doors – finding them to be locked, until at last he found the one within which the priest still waited for him. He could not help but wonder that a faint light was discernable through the crack between some of the locked doors and the floor, as though there was someone within. Yet when he had knocked and paused to listen there was not a sound to indicate an occupant; nevertheless he could not shake the uncomfortable feeling that they were not alone.

Returning to the bedchamber, the priest seemed asleep to all appearances, and Vasarius too laid down to get as much rest as he could after another unwholesome night. However, before the sun rose, he awakened by the sound of a bell reverberating throughout the halls from somewhere far above them, soon followed by the shuffling of feet and robes somewhere near the door. Yet these sounds passed by them, the unknown guests of the ancient building hurrying on without disturbing them further, only Vasarius was unsure whether his need for rest or that of satisfying his curiosity was the greater influence, until at last, the priest's rising from the bed, tipped his resolve towards the latter.

They both washed their faces and arranged their clothes. Vasarius was provided with a brown cloak from a large chest which stood in one corner of the room, with the comfort of a cowl which allowing him to obscure his face in shadow, while the priest donned a long black vestment similar to the one he had worn previously, draping a gold-embroidered fabric over his shoulders. Lastly, black gloves and mask of carved wood and porcelain were taken from a drawer. Wrapped in silk and protected by a sandalwood case, these masquerade-like pieces concealed all but Vasarius's eyes from the world, and as for the priest, not even these were not to be beheld – although it seemed that the vision of the other was in no way impaired by his costume, as he led the way forth. The wanderer and his companion joined a procession of figures in black and brown robes, marching to the peel of a multitude of bells to a grand hall which awaited them, illuminated by such a great number of candles that it was a wonder to behold. Incense scented the room and an organ began to play the ecclesiastic melodies which to which the procession was accustomed.

Eagerly anticipated were the words of the man who stood on the dais, a tall venerable figure in scarlet. His bald head was covered by blue cap from which hung two strips of black fabric, reminiscent of the ancient pharaohs of Egypt. Yet not a word escaped his lips as he waved a scepter to and fro, silencing even the sounds of the instruments, for the usual murmurs and whispers of gatherings were unknown to the occupants of the strange monastic citadel. Vasarius thought that he could perceive a distinct metallic humming but it was difficult for him to place its source and he began to doubt if this was not but a fragment of his own imagining, not knowing to what extent his sleep-wearied senses could be relied upon. The monks, for such he chose to call the masked figures, stood perfectly still in rows like the terracotta soldiers.

Vasarius knew not what to do other than to emulate them and his companion, as not to attract the notice of the multitude, not knowing whether they would welcome an outsider among their ranks, and, being cautious by nature, suspecting the worst due to the efforts taken by one and all to disguise their identity from the rest of the brotherhood. When the staff of the leader of the conjugation was lowered, all seated themselves, whether on the stone floor or upon the wooden chairs which lined the perimeter of the hall. The wanderer's companion took the latter while Vasarius himself sat in front of him. It was difficult to estimate how much time had passed in utter stillness that was both unnerving and oppressing to one unaccustomed to the rituals of the monks, as though to move was to give sign of one's presence to some abominable beast set on devouring the unfaithful.

Unenlightened as to the nature and purpose of the ceremony, Vasarius struggled greatly against his restlessness, much agitated by the piercing black eyes of the man on the pedestal, who seemed to look directly at him. Indeed it was so, for the Pharaoh raised his silver staff again and pointed to the outsider. At this signal, all of the masked figures turned towards him – the wandered sought to run, this impulse was only arrested by the thought that there was little chance of escape, for number of cloaked figures which filled the room and stood by every exit was too numerous to afford him hope. Resigned to his fate, Vasarius placed his life in the hands of his protector, he who had led him to the unnatural place. The priest had risen and placed his hand upon the aged man's shoulder, as though to claim him, while the master of the ceremony approach in swift decisive steps. At last the other's stern face met the masked visage of the priest with the searching look of a dog that had cornered its prey, looking between him and Vasarius, and then removing the outsider's wooden mask and flinging it onto the floor in a dramatic gesture of contempt – at which point all of the monks rose and approached, the first row of their rank stopping but a foot from the trio. On impulse, Vasarius remained upon his knees and bowed his head lower still, touching his forehead to the ground and extending his hands in supplication, as he imagined one would do before an incensed deity or tribal chieftain, as a symbol of submission, little knowing what he did.

The Pharaoh struck him sharply with the staff upon the hands, at which both he and the priest winced, the prior uttering an unbecoming yelp, while the latter was left wondering if the offended master could read in his eyes the aversion which was felt for his person and character, both characterized by despotic harshness. The priest then stepped forward and enshrouded the kneeling man with his cloak, as a bird protecting its young with its vast black wing, a gesture more symbolic than effectual against an enemy fixed upon doing harm. Indeed, all of the movements of the figures which occupied the hall reminded Vasarius of chess pieces, each knowing the limits and mannerisms proper to their position and rank.

The Pharaoh's next motion was to strike the vacant face of the priest with his silver scepter, atop of which was a roughly hewn violet jewel, sharp as an arrow. Once, twice - again and again did the blows fall down upon the porcelain mask, causing to crack and until it had been utterly shattered to fragments, falling to the floor like a shower of glass – much to the horror and chagrin of Vasarius and the conjugation alike, whose emotions were conveyed by the recoiling which reverberated through the ranks. The priest had been obliged to stagger back under the force of the blows yet made no apparent effort to withdrawn nor defend himself, bearing the attack with a sort of dignity that was peculiar to one who takes pride in his endurance of misfortune, which he expects as the lot bestowed upon him by fate. This Vasarius found inexplicable and it was with much effort that he suppressed the urge to pounce upon the brutish headmaster with all of the strength of his weary frame.

The sharp features of the priest were then visible to all, besmeared with blood which trickled down from his nose, whetting his lips and the collar of his vestment. Yet in his eyes was the same complacent melancholy gaze that was familiar to his companion, only the quivering of his lip betrayed that he was sentient of the bodily pain inflicted upon him. Meanwhile, his attacker continued to examine that same countenance, as well as that of him who had been the cause of the corporal penance of his friend. The aged man looked between them, astounded and at a loss as to what to do, for to retaliate would imperil the both of them, while hardly availing to allow them an escape. Yet he felt that the honor of their friendship demanded some action from him in order to balance the distribution of calamity which each was owed. It was therefore much to the wanderer's surprise when his protector took his hand and ushered him through the rows of men, as resolutely as a lord who walked in his own gardens.

The assembly of stony figures parting for them as they made their way to the dais, followed by the vicious glare of the master of ceremonies, who stood fixed up on the spot where he had accosted the imposter among them in the manner he thought most suitable to the transgression. While they paused there and looked out at the gathered brotherhood, it seemed to Vasarius that the room held its breath, and then, without further ceremony, allowed them to descend by a subtle acquiesce to their existence, conveyed by the slight bowing of their heads. The priest then removed the gold-embroidered fabric which signified his rank and placed it upon the ground at the feet of the first row of monks, one of whom knelt down and draped it over his arm, carrying it to the master of ceremonies by the same route which the priest had taken. Awaiting no further reply, the two companions descended from the lowest step of the pedestal which they were loath to occupy for longer than the sanctity of the hall of rituals required; led by the decisive movements of the priest, who feigned more than he felt of courage and defiance to he who had styled himself as master.

The heavy door yielded for Vasarius and the priest, pulled open by two of the guards which stood at either side of it, in unspoken deference to the laws which dictate the actions of the congregation, like the clockwork figurines of some master craftsman. Having given up the marks of his distinguished station, the priest was troubled no further, for the expected punishments had been doled out with the efficiency characteristic of their shepherd. Once they had exited the room, the old wanderer exhaled deeply, relieved to be out of the sight of eyes to which he attributed forms of malice both vague and menacing by the very nebulousness of their mystery. With the hem of his sleeve, he reached out to wipe the blood from the other's face, in a kindly ineffectual gesture of gratitude, feeling the strength of acute fear ebb away. The priest, however, left him little time to communicate more, urging him onward down the hall to the chamber which they had occupied. After tending to his wounds, the ashen-faced man directed his thoughts to the preservation of their persons in a broader sense, feeling that the hospitality of their present abode was not to be relied upon. By way of signals, the priest asked Vasarius to aide him in collecting what belongings he could find about the room that would prove useful to two such as themselves, whose indeterminate journey was soon to recommence, while remembering the discomforts of being burdened by one's possessions. In little time, they were ready to depart, with the benefit of warm fur-lined coats, boots, provisions, and assorted tools, some of which appeared to be for arts foreign and esoteric to the old wanderer.

Vasarius was glad to see that sun was still in the sky when he bid goodbye to the ancient monastic site, for there was much dread in imagining another hurried escape through the woods. Indeed, there was also much that was pleasant in their departure; the oppression of ritual and tyranny which the building represented was receding into the distance and it were as though a weight was being lifted from the forebodings of the wanderers, while new ones, of a different nature, were being added. The aged man recalled his own ineptitude in the arts of self-preservation and the rising debts that he owed to his benefactor, only then recalling the service he had rendered to him in the woods of the silent village. Then, more than ever, he wished that he still possessed his powers of speech so as to ask the priest the reason for his ensnarement.


	31. Chapter 31

As the day progressed, the two souls traversed a great distance from the monastery and at last settled to a repast of bread, cheese and dried plums, which to their empty stomachs possessed all of the pleasure that one could derive from a king's sumptuous banquet. These small comforts, as well as that of a warm fire, had the effect of animating their spirits to attempt new modes of communication. Throughout their journey, they would stop to rest and wherever the earth allowed it and would draw characters with a stick in hopes that the other would be able to read them and thus establish a common tongue. However, all of these attempts had thus far proved fruitless, as neither was able to read his companion's scrawling hieroglyphs. Some enjoyment was also found in making drawings upon the parchment that Vasarius had managed to preserve, this being the main mode of communicating for more complex concepts that were not easily translated through charades.

The greatest source of mirth and wonder, however, was found in the moving images that each man took turns in viewing, brought about by the powers of some strange mixture in a vial which the priest had brought with him since they departed from the monastery. A few droplets of this concoction were poured into a makeshift basin, created by lifting a large stone from the earth and pouring some of the precious water therein. While such doings were initially much to Vasarius's chagrin, given how scarce their resources were, his later astonishment at the effects of the enchantment fully made amends for an empty water jug. Urged by the priest to immerse his face into the murky water, the wanderer at last consented, not knowing whether he ought to keep his eyes open or closed. While expecting to see little but mud and soil, he was aghast to behold a grand ballroom where elegant figures whirled about in exquisite costume, where tables were laden with sweetmeats and wine flowed plentifully, and a beautiful music reached his ears. All the while, he looked down from above as some munificent deity, the spectator of a night of revels.

There were times when he had all but forgotten both the curse upon his tongue and the murky waters of the makeshift basin, opening his mouth to speak to his friend and finding a bitter taste and the sensation of suffocation were prompt to follow. The priest, perceiving what had occurred, hurried to pull the other from the bewitching allurements of the so-called looking glass to the otherworldly paradise. Vasarius coughed up the water which he had swallowed while the sharp-featured man heartily offered his assistance by hitting him over his back. Having recovered from his shock, the old wanderer looked searchingly at the other, who returned his gaze with a satisfied smile, as though pleased by his own proficiency in the esoteric arts that could produce such effects. Vasarius did not tarry long in re-immersing himself in the world that seemed so unlike his own, reflecting all the while how out of place he would be if, by another equally strange and potent force, he were spirited into the presence of the noble company.

Nonetheless, it delighted him to watch their graceful movements, who were like ballet dancers upon a stage. He wondered to what purpose the priest had introduced them to him, whether it was for mere amusement, for indeed their spirts needed lifting after the outcome of their visit to the monastery, or by some other motive. Vasarius could not estimate how much time had passed since he had set eyes upon the entertainments of the figures in miniature, he only knew that when he at last withdrew himself, the sun was far on its way to descending past the horizon, the last of its warm rays casting the forest into a light which heightened its beauty.

The old man wiped his wet face with his sleeve, his sense of bliss interrupted by the unpleasant feeling that the immersion in water had had upon his skin. Moreover, he then also realized with amazement that he had somehow been able to go without breathing for what was certainly more than what a man could naturally bear, or in the case that he had breathed, that his nostrils had not been engulfed with water from the murky puddled. Vasarius saw that his companion was resting on the grass in the tranquil clearing which they had chosen for the night. It occurred to him that perhaps it would be best to make a shelter of sorts, however rudimentary, in the case that it should rain, but given that this seemed to little bother the other, he too allowed himself to neglect such practicalities and laid himself to rest beside him. Without much effort, they fell fast asleep.

The next morning brought with it further cause for aching feet, as they continued their journey through lands foreign to both. All the while, Vasarius's thoughts were occupied with various imaginings regarding the contents of the other's satchel, brought on by the miraculous things that he had seen and the anticipation of more to come. This served to soften his regret and his fears, having left his home well behind, knowing neither how to return there nor where he was headed. As they tread onward, the outline of a village became visible on the horizon, and towards it the priest seemed to make his way. Scrambling down a hillside, they at last found themselves on a dirt path not unlike the ones of the first village which Vasarius had encountered. There, too, were assorted shops and figures, most of whom exchanged nods of greeting or curious looks with the two strangers. The old man's appetite was stirred by the smell of freshly baked bread and roasted meat which emanated from one of the buildings, and given how meager their breakfast had been and the power that such sensations had on displacing all other thoughts but to satiate the most primitive of human desire, the priest was hardly surprised to see the other's steps gravitating in the direction of such allurements.

Striding over to his companion's side, he then overtook him in approaching the baker who was in the process of arranging the myriad of loaves, pasties, and sweetmeats which had been baked that morning. They soon reached an understanding as the priest withdrew a few coins of gold from the pocket of his cloak, handing one to the astonished gaze of the baker. With the uncertainty as to quantity, the villager presented the two travelers with the most savory of his goods, which Vasarius could not but devour as soon as they were in his hands, followed by many bows of gratitude to both the maker and the procurer of such satisfying fare. By the time that his hunger was satiated, the baker's brow was somewhat furrowed by the other's gluttony, nevertheless, he maintained his fixed smile, well knowing that were he to eat the contents of his bakery, the worth of the gold coin would compensate him well enough.

He proceeded with such calculations, making deductions to the profit, until, much abashed, the priest handed him another such coin. Thus appeased, the baker went to the back of his shop and carried out another tray of fresh bread, this time for the benefit of the priest, who at last relented in maintaining his severe dignity in the face of temptation and joined his friend in taking part in the plentiful meal. In goodwill, the baker even brought them two jugs of milk to wash down what they ate, to which Vasarius gave his hearty approval by way of additional low bows and broad smiles. When neither could bear to eat more, they took what had been laid out for them and fit it into their bags, at last departing the bakery with many an amused look exchanged between them.

It was a clear day, comfortably warm with the occasional breeze to refresh them, putting them both in a pleasant mood, also owing no small part to the fare which had been offered to them by way of welcome, which they instinctively attributed to fortune smiling upon the day's endeavors. They therefore proceeded through the town, exploring its narrow cobblestone streets which seemed to increasingly bustle with people the deeper they went towards its center. With much delight, they examined the architecture of the houses and shops, which held for them a rustic charm, and breathed in the smell of burning peat, bringing forth bittersweet reminiscences of Vasarius's old abode. Nevertheless, he was grateful to have made it so far on his adventure and considered with amazement how such a one as he had ever embarked on a scheme so reckless, the philosophical aim of which had long been obscured by the daily trials and necessities for survival. Yet there had not been a day when he had not experienced such potent emotions and delights as would never have been possible had he remained at home. Nor would he have met and aided his companion, who had grown much in his esteem since they had first met - although he could not entirely shake a curious feeling of worry which surrounded the unknown aspects of the figure who walked alongside him. He would have given much to have the power of speech restored to him.

The two pilgrims continued their exploration of the village, making note of the various streets and shops, and ultimately deciding that they would take lodgings at one of the inns for the night in order to rest and make plans for the journey to come, given that neither of the companions had made his purpose understood to the other past the need for escaping from danger. Another handful of glistening coins managed to procure for them a modestly furnished room, the only available, for there was a festival or fair of sorts that was to take place for the next few days, so intimated the innkeeper who beheld the mute strangers with a wary eye. This fair seemed to pique the interests of Vasarius, who, while usually drawn to solitary pursuits, at the same time enjoyed the lively atmosphere of such gatherings, where he was usually allowed to take as much or as little part in the festivities as he desired without drawing notice to himself. And so it was decided, that they would stay long enough to witness the event to come, which seemed to have drawn visitors from near and far, given the great number of horses and carriages that surrounded any known places of accommodation for a weary traveler.

Having taken possession of their room for the night, Vasarius and his friend gladly removed the heavy bags which they had long been carrying and laid them on the ground, exchanging understanding smiles, for many days had passed since they were able to take their rest without fear or watchfulness. Looking about, they perceived that the room was occupied by two sturdy beds, a well-worn table of oak surrounded by a few stools, and a fireplace by which logs were stacked in a neat pile. Given how cold the room was, they busied themselves with lighting a fire which added much to their comfort, to behold such a symbol of home and good cheer. After taking a few moments to bask in the warmth of the hearth, the priest then turned his attention to rummaging through his belonging and taking note of what had been haphazardly thrown into his satchel before they had made their escape from the monastic site, sorting through and arranging these carefully among the various compartments of his bag and his vestments. This work complete, he then sat down on the cot beside Vasarius, who had been watching him patiently and not without some curiosity. The other seemed to be lost in thought, until, rising from where he sat and searching for the parchment, he began to draw a rough map. His friend studied the drawing carefully and it was not long before he ventured to guess that it was a depiction of the area which they were traversing. Marking their own location, the priest draw a line to represent their route ahead and passed the parchment to Vasarius in hopes that he would be able to complete the map, to which he shook his head in ignorance, for the land was utterly foreign to him. The priest took a deep breath of resignation and folded the parchment, placing it into his bag.

The two of them sat gazing at the fire, each feeling as though there was something that ought to be done yet not knowing how best to go about making designs for what then appeared to them as an aimless venture. Half wistfully, Vasarius took up the quill and ink and another sheet of parchment upon which he began another drawing, a naïve depiction of his old home, surrounded by ivy, flowers, and vegetable plants which he had abandoned to an uncertain fate, by which stood a figure of an old man leaning on a cane. This brought a smile to both of them, and without further hesitation, Vasarius offered his friend the implements to make such a drawing of his own.

To the proposition, the priest responded with some hesitation, sensing that the image that he would create was not one to evoke pleasant remembrances in his own heart, but rather the opposite. He drew a towering construct in the medieval fashion, surrounded on all sides by a body of water. A miniature boat was sketched as an indicator of scale, occupied by two human figures with long hair. By way of signs, Vasarius asked if the artist had drawn himself, to which the other nodded. Next, Vasarius inquired after the other passenger of the boat. His friend seemed perplexed by this question, no matter how much the old wanderer tried to make himself understood, at last shrugging his shoulders in resignation, concluding that the priest did not even wish to endeavor to make the silhouette's identity known. Vasarius took these two sheets and placed them reverently on the table, as though in preparation for a new line of inquiry. Later that evening, when he passed by the table, giving a cursory glance at the sketches, he was much distraught to see that the second figure was no longer visible in the landscape, with no signs of an attempt to erase it, nor could he see how such an attempt could have been successful given that the drawing was made in ink. The old wanderer brooded upon the meaning of the strange phenomenon, coming no closer to enlightenment.

After a great many sketches had been drawn, Vasarius ventured to ask about the contents of the other's bags. The priest hesitated for some time before getting up again and returning with a vial. He then closed Vasarius's eyes and let fall two drops upon each eyelid. Vasarius could hardly suppress his excitement, for the novelty of the art of magic still had its pull upon him, in addition to the natural curiosity which often made him overstep a certain sense of reserve which he would otherwise have exercised when prying into the lives of others. Suddenly immersed in a dream vison, it was several hours before he at last awoke with a sense of grief, although he could hardly find a source to which to attribute his emotions but to a lingering image that he could see well in parts, but only vaguely as a whole, much like the memory of one's own appearance. He could recollect the ethereal attributes of an ideal form and could not help but wonder why this vision had been revealed to him. In an attempt to begin such a discussion, he made attempts to recreate the vision in the form of a drawing, to little avail, being limited by his abilities as an artist. The other did not seem to know what to make of the crudely drawn figure of a woman and at last this too was set aside on the pile of sketches which was steadily growing on the table. Thus they spent their evening before the fair.


	32. Chapter 32

Rising early the next morning, the two pilgrims washed and then breakfasted on the remainder of the pastries from the village bakery before preparing as best as they might to take part in the village fair. The gathering was not difficult to find, for the sound of minstrels and laughter carried itself far. Upon a high hill, multicolored pavilions had been pitched where merchants were in the process of laying out their wares or preparing hearty fare and pouring out strong ales to the throngs of villagers. Vasarius and the priest looked about, strolling idyllically and enjoying the fine weather, until the sound of exuberant shouting turned their attention to a stage that had been pitched as the central point of the revelries.

Makeshift benches had been constructed out of planks in the shape of an amphitheater for the sake of the multitude which heeded to the sound thirteen jesters playing a fine melody upon gilded flutes, while behind them sat a comely young woman with long fair hair that reached to the floor of the stage in loose coils interwoven with ribbons and paper flowers. Her eyes were heavily painted in an oriental fashion and her lips were a bright scarlet that would be visible even to those perched on the farthest benches of the outdoor theater. She had the air of a noble born maiden, her expression being proud and resolute, although unable to hide the quivering of her lip. She seemed hardly to look up from where her folded hands laid on her lap, yet even from a distance, Vasarius could discern that it was the same lady that he had met before in the coach station. Indeed her appearance struck him as much then as it did in the present much by way of the foil provided by the company and surroundings in which she appeared, and so the old man could not help but wonder what had become of the hellish hound and the querulous man.

To the flutes was added the beating of drums and the sound of a harp from somewhere behind the curtains, intensifying the sense of anticipation as another figure walked onto the stage. A most hideous being was he: a hunchbacked figure, tall in stature, but with signs of youthfulness in his disfigured face showing him to be no older than five and twenty. He was dressed in the same attire as the jesters, a costume made of multicolored patches of fabric spangled with bells, with the distinction that his was embroidered with enigmatic motifs. The centaur, unicorn, griffon and other amalgamations featured prominently, reminiscent of the emblems of mythical kingdoms. This figure looked about the faces of the crowd as though he knew not where he was and sought for some means of escape, while a bony hand prodded him forward with a cane from behind the curtain.

The jesters then exchanged their flutes for torches, which they lit by dipping them into a bowl which the woman held raised above her head with fair tremulous hands. These devilish figures proceeded to dance in a circle about the hunchback to the tune of a jubilant air while the villagers clapped with approval. Other oddities were brought forth, such as a set of conjoined brothers and sisters, a boy with a human head and the body of a bird, and a witch-like old woman with a fish's tail instead of legs. How many of these strange beings were real Vasarius could not venture to guess, yet such shows were not unknown even in his native village. In the days of old, he would have much doubted the authenticity of at least the latter two of the misfit lot, but by the influence of all that he had seen and the spark of anxiety in the priest's expression, his incredulity gave way.

These characters and others paired up with one another or even members of the audience who had been beckoned to step onto the stage and join the merry jig. Many a hop, leap and caper made up the steps of the dance, animating the faces, if not the limbs, of the audience. This carried on for some time before, all of a sudden, the jesters their torches up in the air – evoking a gasp of fear, soon to be transformed into joyful anxious laughter when these flaming rods were transformed into black and orange colored birds of paradise. They swooped over the multitude, carrying brightly colored ribbons with their delicate clawed feet, before alighting on the other side of the pavilion and disappearing into a shower of gold dust. These banners which they had hung before their departure sprouted oriental paper lanterns, adding further to the enchantment and decoration of the festival.

All the while, the jesters continued to play their tune, having once again taken up their instruments. Vasarius could not help but smile, for the merriment of the people who surround him had caught the old wanderer, were it not for the fixed gaze of his companion, his anxiety would have been much abated. Nevertheless, it perplexed him to see how the priest focused his attention on none other than the hunchback. Soon the rest of the gathered villagers would do likewise, for Hephaestus – such was the poor youth's name, became the center of the performance which ensued. A great anvil and hammer were carried onto the stage by a great many dwarves dressed in brown habits, each straining under the considerable weight. Without further cue, Hephaestus set to work upon a glistening metal which much resembled gold - but this it could not be, for, after being shaped in the form of a serpent, and then cooled in a cauldron of water, it became animated with life as no earthly metal had hitherto done save for by esoteric influence.

Not only did one such serpent emerge from what was then seen as a witch's cauldron, but such a many that those who had seated themselves close to the stage staggered back in fear of venom and magic. Yet the snakes directed their course elsewhere, as a great wave they made their way to where the lady still sat motionless as a statue, and then, like vines around a tree trunk, they wound themselves into a column. This form was not their last, as the golden element of which they were born began to melt as though in a mold – one of equally unearthly beauty. There stood before them a splendid youth attired in princely robes, lifelike and graceful in motion, yet nonetheless of a substance as that of a gilded statue. Approaching the seated maiden, he proffered his hand to her, as though to ask her to join in the dance. Yet she moved not for some time, only raising her eyes to him and regarding him as though he were an apparition – for he had the visage of Herodotus, but with features made faultless as though by a master correcting the work of one of his most gifted pupils, enhancing its beauty by way of subtle detail and ideal proportion. Moreover, no longer was his body that of a hybrid between man and bird but was more akin to a blending of man and deity.

At last rising, the maiden gathered her long skirt and pushed her way through the jesters and misfit forms crowding around and leaped form the stage, the crowd making way with many murmurings between neighbors. Against the grain of his automaton-like role, Hephaestus was stirred from his anvil by the sound of commotion and followed after her, pushing aside the godly apparition unceremoniously. At this point, the lady disintegrated into golden dust as had done the exotic birds, while instead of the golden figure, a wizen old man – the master of the diverse troop, struggled to raise himself onto his feet by way of a gilded cane in the shape of an oak branch. A shout from the uncouth mage brought Hephaestus's attention back to the stage, but only for a moment, as no sooner had he turned his neck that one of the audience took hold of him. The priest who had accompanied Vasarius held him by the arm as he whispered strange verses to him, all the while regarding him with a hypnotic gaze as that of a snake charmer. Thus immobilized, the hunchback made no resistance when his form was also made to disintegrate into a black dust which was drawn into the voluminous sleeve of the priest's cloak. A most venomous look was exchanged between the master of the harlequins and the imperious man who so dared to put an end to the performance, or such had been his miscarried aim.

This uncertain interlude between merriment and misfortune did not endure long. The performers, being but the servants of a servants, were assailed by a piercing sound, so insufferable that many staggered to their knees and clasped their hands over their ears, their faces contorted in their bouts of agony. The audience began to scatter, the novelty and wonder of the show no longer sufficing to overshadow their superstitious fear of the dark arts. Like hares at the barking of the huntsman's hounds, one and all ran from the pavilion, not knowing which direction to take but to increase their distance from the abominable visions of pain that appeared before them.

A great wind rose suddenly and most unnaturally, interpreted but as a proponent of woe, yet soon manifesting itself as the power which would bring a most sinister purpose to fruition. This prevailing gust seemed to pursue the villagers, one by one, made visible by the leaves and debris which it carried in its stead. Nevermore where such persons seen by their kinsfolk, for no man or woman among them ran more swiftly than the wind. Those who disappeared were thought of as dead, carried far to the uninhabitable frozen isle, and sending the entire village into mourning – few there were who had not suffered loss, yet long survived the legend of the horrid day marking the wrath of the North Wind.


	33. Chapter 33

Vasarius found himself among his fellow prisoners, yet nowhere could he see his companion; the villagers sat huddled together, leaning against the walls of a train cart or sitting together in small groups whispering fearfully amongst themselves. The sounds of a lute was also heard amid the sound of the train wheels and the questioning voices of the overwrought captives, played by a man known to the village as minstrel, sage, and madman depending on the mood that was predominant. Sirens, clanking, and other strange sounds were heard outside of the blackened windows, further frightening those within. When at last one of these windows was broken by a bold young lad among the company, a great expanse of desert was revealed to then, and later as their journey progressed; the sight of a monstrous flying machine into which they were led by strange guardsmen with little by way of ceremony. No sooner was the window broken that the substance repaired itself like a mesh of wire, thickening with an increasing number of interlacing threads until it regained its smooth glass-like appearance.

As for the flying contraption, it was unlike anything that Vasarius had ever seen. Its outer walls were of a gray metal, somewhat tarnished with wear and age. Various windows, plainly marked doors and a few towering spouts of smoke were its distinguishing signs. He could only compare it to an oddly formed fortress, altogether inhospitable, which some god had chosen to lift off of the earth and whisk away – his own wishes being the very same, sensing that the sight of it boded no good for himself and his comrades. Yet its colossal form made no sign of departing, rather, their train approached it at a steady speed, the tracks leading to an open gateway to somewhere within. When at last their cart came to a halt, the captives instinctually exchanged looks of terror and many a prayer was uttered. Only the lute player seemed to take no notice, carrying on his tune.

The cart made another jolting motion and then stopped again suddenly with the turning of gears and the sound of revolving mechanism. Suddenly, its doors opened and the guardsmen entered. Stragglers were prodded onward with metal rods, while those outpacing the entourage of uniformed men were dealt similar blows. Few failed to observe that each of the guards had the same face, although not an uncomely one in its proportions, was severe and lacking in signs of natural expression, as though all manner of human emotions were foreign to these beings. Indeed, their uniform visages bore no hint of creases from either tears or laughter, but were like clever masks or the work of a sculptor envisioning the quintessential somber-faced sentinel. For the old wanderer, they brought to mind the golden youth who sent the maiden and the monster fleeing from the stage; Vasarius wondered if he ought not to be so surprised by these ushers, immaculate automatons dressed in red coats and trousers like so many toy soldiers.

Led onward like cattle, each villager was seated in turn upon a strange throne. Over the prisoner's head, a helmet-like contraption would descend and scan their eyes with a powerful light, while other devices would immobilize their hands, make a record of their fingerprints and take a sample of their blood. After a momentary pause, the machine would then produce a record containing such biometric details as their propensity towards certain illnesses, forecasted lifespan, a rating of their intellectual capabilities with a corresponding percentage of certainty, and other such ponderous measures as may be of interest to those who would soon receive them. All of this data was then stored in what looked like a metallic sphere no bigger than a grain of rice, embedded into the wrist of each of the captives, over which was tattooed a barcode as instantaneously as a stamp.

Some of the villagers passively submitted to the procedure, either being timorous by nature or having considered the odds of a successful escape, decided that they would do better by seeking their opportunity at a later time, when perhaps their guards would be less vigilant. Others, prideful or foolhardy, or else believed that their demise would otherwise fall upon them, fought with all of their strength to overpower the guards who strived with greater strength to force them into the seat of judgment.

As the villagers who had completed this unpleasant procedure were being led through one of the many corridors of the metallic fortress, Vasarius caught sight of the priest being followed by four of the guards, not in the manner of a prisoner but as one to whom great deference was given, or so the aged traveler surmised. The glimpse that the moment afforded him greatly roused dormant suspicions regarding the other, who while showing much kindness and consideration towards Vasarius, had always had a strange bearing about him. At times the pilgrim wondered if he was altogether human. Fearing for his life, his nerves on end, it was not long before anger and self-reproach followed the apparent revelation of the stranger's true nature as a ranking member of a coldblooded conquering race. With these bitter impressions, Vasarius was left to brood in the holding bay while the flying abomination carried him he knew not where.

After what seemed like the span of several hours, the humbled village folk were transported to what could be termed as no other than an auction house. Proceeding through a gilded ornate hall as that of a grand hotel, their identifiers tattoos were methodically scanned by footmen in black garments. They were then allowed to present themselves in turn upon a platform before which the bidders were gathered, ushered in by other black robed men who seemed to know the proper moment without any outward sign of instruction or coordination once the barcodes had been scanned – for these consisted their hidden cue to action. Each terror-stricken figure would in time see a room with numerous seats arrange as those of an orchestral hall.

The unnatural light of the gallery was focused on the platform, shrouding the so-called audience in shadows. From Vasarius anxious observations, those attending the auction held white, black or red silk fans which they raised to place their bids, understood and recorded by a figure wearing a tall four-pointed hat, a cross between a jester and a bishop. Vasarius strained his eyes to see what would become of his comrades who preceded him in their turn to step upon the platform. From what he gathered, the red fans overruled and ended the bidding, likely wielded by individuals who were entitled to some caste or elevated role.

Black fans were rarely used, indicating a vengeful execution – the old pilgrim had the discomfort of seeing a fearsome man led onto the stage fall to such a fate, not one of his own party, but dressed in the manner of the warring tribes which sometimes descended upon his native village. Upon the very stage he watched the sentinels bind the ferociously-minded fellow, raging like a bull and struggling against the superhuman hands of his captors with all of his might before the axe descended upon him, wielded by the venerable master of the auction house – a bespectacled man of middle age dressed in white. After this disturbing scene, an intermission was called, during which gray robed maidens were prompt to return the marble floor to its former whiteness. As for the white fans, most commonly used - they were for bids upon those designated as household servants and the like. It was to this category that the aged man was assigned.

Some of the bidders wore white porcelain masks, most often those who held the red fans, giving them a sinister appearance reminiscent of living mysticism and pagan ritual, meanwhile concealing their identity lest their reputation should suffer in some way by the object of their bidding or perhaps their mere presence at the auction house. These were but conjectures, Vasarius's dread was mingled with a sense of wonder and curiosity at the ways of the conquering race, ways which were his to observe during the, as he believed, short interval that he had left to sense and behold among his fellow mortals. The once reclusive scholar saw some of the villagers among whom he dwelled since his youth, and strangers among them, being escorted to the platform cursing, sobbing or the maintaining resolute silence of a proud or hopeless soul. When his own turn had come, he heard the auctioneer give what he surmised was an account of the qualities possessed by the latest ware: an unassuming elderly man who stood with the eyes of the hall upon him, hostile and mercenary to his imagination.

He could only wonder what had been said of him, for he did not know the foreign tongue, which was some kind of spoken secretarial script abridging and metamorphosing Arabic and Latin words to suit the speed of the process; there was certainly a long procession of bodies to distribute. Vasarius could not help but wonder what would happen to those who did not find a buyer, but, whether fortunately or not, this was not his plight.

After several white fans were raised for him, a red one decided the matter in favor of one of the masque figures in a black coat. Vasarius was then escorted off the platform by two of the guards and led down the corridor; looking back, he saw the buyer rise from his chair and leave the room in the company of a corpulent looking figure who he identified as a bishop by his garb, cap and golden pendant bearing the symbol of the god which was much worshiped by the people of his village. Vasarius was shepherded into a carriage where he was seated across from the bishop and the gentleman who, removing his porcelain mask, revealed an angular face and slightly aquiline nose – the "priest". He bore an expression that was both proud and careworn yet no words escaped his mouth, and if Vasarius could do otherwise, he mused whether or not he might thank or curse him.


	34. Chapter 34

Vasarius kept his eyes upon the worn leather shoes which he had been wearing before he was captured, finding the other's silent scrutiny unnerving. From time to time he would look outside the lattice window of the carriage at rolling hills and distant mountains, his heart yearning for them more than ever as he deliberated over the oppression of the spirit that was the lot of slaves, imagining a life reduced heavy labor or catering to the whims of an imperious master and other such unpleasant visions. These, however, were not the entirety of what he expected of his future, whether out of a lingering partiality towards his unlikely companion or out of that general yearning for hope which any soul bound to misfortune is most reluctant to shake. And so remained with him that general belief that all that had happened was but a ruse to enable their escape.

For the most part, the long journey had been made in silence, intermitted by questions from the bishop to the man who seemed not to hear him. At last, the exasperated ecclesiastic forsook his attempts at conversing with his comrade and likewise turned his attention to the window, and the barren landscape pleasing him but little, redirected his gaze to a tattered book which he drew from the pocket of his robe. At intervals, Vasarius would attempt to search the face of the priest. The most hopeful sign received was a fleeting smile which seemed to betoken friendship or comfort, or so Vasarius desired to believe – unobserved by the bishop who paid little heed to the apparent servile stranger among them.

As the journey progressed, the fervent wishes of Vasarius grew more strongly in him, that all was not lost and his wayfaring journey not forsaken. He who Vasarius had called the priest would liberate him, or else all that he had witnessed and been a part of was little more than a dream – these two thoughts were his chief comforts until the carriage came to a halt, when hope did battle with renewed bouts of dread. He did not know yet whether to resign himself to this future or focus his energies on ploys of escape; eventually resolving that once he was better acquainted with the other man's intentions and resources, and given rightful cause, only then would he act out against his so-called master.

After some time, the old wanderer began to doze off, rocked into sleep by the motion of the carriage. The hours passed uneventfully and the journey progressed steadily onwards. When at last he awoke – by the rough handling of more statuesque servants – Vasarius stood wondering at the great number of caravans which had been following behind them, laden with furniture, books, and all manner of treasures and brick-a-brack, like relics cleared out of an old miser's home shortly after his passing. Other carriages seen in the distance, more grand and ornate than those which came before, carrying the revered guests which Vasarius would soon to encounter.

Preceded by their possessions, the procession stopped before a large iron gate, its posts covered in ivy and its lock rusty with age. One of the attendants jumped down from his mare and struggled with it for some time before at last resolving to cut it off with his blade. To this act, some of the fauna took offense, for the clumps of yellow wildflowers which grew nearby stretched out their tendrils to grasp the man's arm and pull him to the ground with considerable strength and little ceremony. His comrades were prompt to react and battle with the emboldened plants which sought to restrain them, yet going no further, for the fallen men came to no harm as they awaited the irritable bishop to step out of the carriage and sprinkle a few droplets from what looked like a glass medicine bottle. In response to this potion, the tendrils receded as promptly as a rebuked guard-dog and allowed the attendants to rise, brushing off the dirt as best as they could manage. They then resumed their task of pushing open the gates with few other obstacles but the rust of the old hinges. The black-bearded bishop murmured all the while in a tongue unknown to Vasarius, leading him to conjecture that the iron would not be willed to part by human force or otherwise but by the sign of its master.

They then passed down a broad path with woodland on either side before reaching an imposing manor house, faintly discernable amid the mist that had gathered not long after evening set. It was preceded by an overgrown garden that might have once been beautiful in an orderly way yet was nevertheless so when its flowers and herbs were allowed to grow by their own wills. Statues and fountains stood in various states of dilapidation and these Vasarius hoped to examine when opportunity allowed, wondering if it might be a part of the very garden he had visited not long ago with his companion, for such he was then, and perhaps so remained.

The manor itself was made of unusual black stones that looked much as though they had passed through fire and been scorched thereby. Before its entrance they paused for a great while, giving Vasarius the opportunity to examine everything more closely, if only from a distance, as the attendants occupied themselves with unloading the caravans. For the most part, in the books were assembled the greatest thinkers of generations, and Vasarius could not help but consider with pity that one's mortal life would not suffice to read them all. As for the heavy chests laden with the contents of an apothecary, a jeweler's shop, and something else besides, he could make no conjecture as to its usefulness to the man, of whom he knew little but that he or some relations of his had devoted much time to the acquisition of material things, which followed him like a great mountain moved by the efforts of djinn. It was a great marvel for Vasasrius to see a similar procession attend each of the guests and enter through the heavy door of the stately home.

As little notice was paid to him in the flurry of activity, Vasarius had the pleasure of watching the spacious although antiquated rooms methodically fill with this and that, not without taste, by the army of servants. It seemed that each knew the proper position of each object without need for further instruction. Carpets were laid out, silverware and beakers arrayed upon shelves, tables matched with chairs, curtains hung, and all such preparations in imitation of a family which had settled upon their ancestral land for generations. Dust and cobwebs were swept away in a flurry, all in that peculiar silence which had not left since they disembarked from the carriage. Vasarius did not leave the master's side, mainly due to a lack of knowledge as to what he ought to do or where to go, unable to fathom what expectations would be placed upon him in his old age in this otherworldly house.

This was the temporary abode of the bishop and the priest, for such Vasarius chose to call them in the interim between knowing their true names. And as for the house itself, this he would refer to it as the Black Castle.


End file.
